


Asylum

by LightReader765



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mental Torture, Reference to Child Abuse, References to Drug Use, References to Suicide, Triggers, references to self harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2017-12-30 00:01:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightReader765/pseuds/LightReader765
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly Hooper is a Psychotherapist, and has been offered a job by Mycroft Holmes to help his brother Sherlock who is in St Bartholomew's Mental Institution. Will Molly be able to cope with her new patient, and what will she do when the unexpected happens? Trigger warnings. Sherlock/Molly. Thanks for reading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!
> 
> Fanfiction.net -http://www.fanfiction.net/s/9618757/1/Asylum

**This is a story I came up with while I was doing the dishes and listening to _‘Grimes – Oblivion’._ Please don’t ask how because I really _do not have a clue._ Some characters – Especially Sherlock are very out of character, as it’s completely AU.**

**Can be Dark in places – Trigger warnings: CONTAINS SUBJECTS SUCH AS ABUSE/ ATTEMPTED SUICIDE (MANT TIMES)/ FLASHBACKS / D.I.D ETC**

**Why can’t I write happy fics?!**

**It will be happy in some places I swear...**

**PAIRING: Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper – ‘cause I love ‘em...  **

**PLAYLIST:**

**My Immortal –**

**VNV Nation- Illusion**

**Grimes – Oblivion**

**Three wishes – The pierces**

**TO THE STORY... AWAAYYYYYYYY ~**

Molly was doing the dishes when she got the call. She suspected that it would have been John asking her if she wanted to go for drinks at the pub with our friends, or maybe Lestrade wanting her to do an autopsy on someone for the police  or even Mrs Hudson asking her to come over for tea so she can talk about how ridiculous her hip was being.

But they would have phoned her phone.

This call was on her landline.

Being a pathologist was kind of like, how would she put it? 

Ah. A second option, if you will. She still did autopsies from time to time when no one else could fill in at St Bart’s but most of the time, she did her _actual job._ She was a psychotherapist.

**_(Psychotherapist -_ ** **_Noun_ **

**_The treatment of mental disorder by psychological rather than medical means._**  
  
---  
  
**_)_ **

Well, that’s what she trained for... but not really what she does exactly. Instead of becoming just a doctor figure to the patients that she went to see, she preferred to talk to them instead, ask how their day was going and brought them things such as chocolate (if she was allowed) and books. She became a _friend_ to them. Someone they could trust. The other Doctors, and some of the staff in the places she worked it didn’t approve. _‘That’s not what you’re here for’_ they would say, in which she would reply – ‘ _Making them fear you with your silly mind games is not going to get you any were with these patients.’ A_ nd with that, she would go back to her patient – she hated that word – with a smile on her face to make them feel comfortable and secure.

_Safe._

Some people, especially Lestrade and John, had rudely suggested that _that_ job was not for her.  ‘You’re to... fragile?’ as John would say.  But, like every time they would make a comment about her work, she simply said, ‘I enjoy it. It’s fulfilling.’

Which it is. She had worked with quite a few patients at many different mental institutions around London, and she even helped some of them get right back on track. It made her happy, making them happy- Well... happier in some cases.

She had worked with people who had very bad cases of schizophrenia and MPD, talking to themselves and claiming to hear voices of long dead relatives and just voices in general.  It was hard working with some of them, one had been whispering to himself about how he could kill her when she wasn’t looking.  He had to be restrained for the rest of her visits, but she never gave up on him, until he was sent to a Mental Hospital nearer his hometown of Leeds. It was a lot different, the one in Leeds. It was cleaner, the staff was friendlier to the patients and it just gave the feeling of a retirement home filled with sweet little old people who asked how your day was. She of course, still visited him, once a week and he apologized for all the times he had lashed out at her with a toothbrush or razor. He, of course, still heard voices in his head, and sometimes got extremely paranoid, but it was _a lot_ better than it was. He was 83, died in 2005. His name was Jeffery, but he called his ‘ _other self_ ’ as the doctors would call him, ‘Jeff’.

One of her most sad, and of course made her want to quit her job in several cases, was a little girl called Catalina. She was 11 years old, schizophrenic and she was very suicidal. Molly had to stop her from doing it once or twice. She was bullied in school for talking to herself, back in Russia, when she had a very mild case of schizophrenia and wasn’t actually diagnosed with it until she was taken to the doctors, and it gradually got very, _very_ much worse.  Catalina had gone far into her mind and decided to stay there for a year, before she started to talk to herself and would answer back in a not very friendly tone. She had to get moved to a very well guarded mental institution - In London. That’s where Molly comes in. Molly had been very upset that she was only 12 years old; she looked so young and innocent. That was when she wasn’t her other self – We called her Cat. She did the scariest of things when she was Cat. She wrote things on the walls with her _own_ blood, and it scared molly half to death. The worst thing to deal with was when she woke up from her other self, and would cry and scream because she didn’t know what to do anymore. Molly had become a sisterly figure to Cat over the years she had worked with her, and when she would break down, Molly would hold her and tell that one day, she would get out of this place – Molly planned to take her in when she was. It was frowned upon, of course, but she had no family left and Catalina trusted no one but _her._ That all ended when Molly came in to her room – in 2007, she had been working with her for 3 years – along side with Jeffery- and found that she had hung herself with her bed sheets from the land shade. Molly screamed for help, and got her down, but soon realized that she was long gone.  She had left a note, addressed to Molly, which the Doctors demanded to see and tried to rip the note from her hands, but Molly was having none of it. Her funeral was a week later, and Molly was asked to do the autopsy.  She was only 15.

The note read –

_Dear Molly,_

_I’m sorry for everything I have done, I know that I cannot blame all the wrong that I have done on Cat, because in reality, it was all me wasn’t it?  She keeps telling me it’s my fault. And I believe her._

_I wanted to thank you for everything that you have done, and to know that you’re help to me hasn’t been for nothing. I was looking forward t living with you when I got better, but I figured that i would only be a burden to you. And I couldn’t do that to you.  Thank you for being the big sister I needed._

_Love,_

_Catalina._

On the back of the piece of bed sheet that Catalina had used as paper or her note, she saw red stain through the where she has written her note.

It was blood. Her blood.

It read –

_Failure_

_Cat._

She didn’t go back to that job for _4 years_ after Catalina.

 

 

Present Day –

Molly knew what the phone call was about. She had a new _patient_ to work with. After Catalina, she spent a year on leave, but went back to it, as being a pathologist was making her bored out of her mind. She missed helping people, as weird as it sounded.

But this number that showed up on her phone, she didn’t recognize. It wasn’t Michael, who told her where to go for her next patient to work with and a bit of background about them so she knew what she was going into.  She picked up the phone and looked at the screen.  Blocked number.

She contemplated about putting it down, but decided against it, and clicked the answer button before placing the phone to her ear. “Hello?” she spoke slowly.

“Hello, Miss Hooper, I presume?” a posh, but very calm voice spoke into the phone. Who the heck was he?

 

“Yes, that’s me... um; could I help you with something?”

“Yes, in fact there is something of great importance that you would be of great help. I have heard from past patients of your care that you are one of the best Psychotherapists in London, and I would like to ask for your help with my... little Brother. My name is Mycroft Holmes, before you put down the phone.”

 

“I wasn’t... Wait... Do you mean Mycroft Holmes, as in the eldest of the Holmes children? You got passed the Manor from your parents. Your brother... His name was Sherlock I think, right?” she remembers them from the papers, and how his brother, Sherlock, disappeared when he was just 18 years old.

“Ah...I see that you read the papers then, Miss Hooper. Yes, I am hoping to gain your help for my little brother, Sherlock. While the papers led people to believe that he went to go live with our Gran in Philadelphia, he was, in fact, taken into a mental hospital after some things... happened at home. I’ll let him explain if he chooses to trust you enough.” He explained, and Molly found that he sounded guilty about it.

She pondered for a moment about taking up the offer. She hadn’t done any _serious_ work to help someone in a while. Mycroft’s next few words bring her out of her thoughts.

“I will pay you handsomely for your help, Miss Hooper, for Sherlock needs it dearly, even if he doesn’t think so.” 

“I don’t need any more money than necessary, Mr Holmes. I will help your brother. Can I have a bit of a background about him so I know what I’m going to be doing?”  She was eager to start again. Some people would find that worrying, but she was just glad to be back.

“Thank you Miss Hooper, Your help will not go unnoticed. I will send a car tomorrow at 9am exactly to take you to where he is being kept. I have sent you a file, Miss Hooper, which should be through your letter box around about... now,” He cut off as she heard the sound of something being posted through her letterbox. “ Be warned Miss Hooper, some of the images within this file may... shock you. I will see you tomorrow. Good night.” And with that, the phone went dead.

Molly had always wondered what had happened to the youngest Holmes brother. What _really_ happened to him. She thought this as she walked towards the door and picked up the heavy file. It was marked ‘ _classified_ ’.

_Time to find out, I guess._

She went to go and sit at the kitchen table, her cat Toby, at her feet as she sat down and placed the file on the desk. She opened the cover slowly and stared at the first page, which in-fact was information about him.

**_Surname: Holmes_ **

**_First name(s): Sherlock_ **

**_Sex: Male_ **

****

**_Age Admitted: 17 years of age, DOB: 27 TH March 1982_ **

_He only went ‘to his Grans’ when he was 25_ She remembered.

**_Comment(s): Has been In and Out of St Bartholomew’s Mental Institution for 13 years, but is now in St Bartholomew’s intensive care unit (ICU) as a result of NO PROGRESS MADE and His Brothers demands._ **

_Catalina was in Intensive Care,_ Molly thought, before reading on.

**_Reasons For Admittance: Suicide attempts (Ages 16,18,21 and 28), Deep Depression, Flashbacks – causing him to turn violent to anyone around him, Rapid loss of weight, Paranoia and attempted murder on his Father, Siger Holmes._ **

-          **_Admitted by Mycroft Holmes, Relation: Brother._**

****

**_General Information:_ **

**_Complexion: PALE_ **

**_Eye Colour: BLUE, GREY_ **

**_Hair colour: BROWN, DARK_ **

**_Height: 6ft_ **

**_Weight (Since last weigh in) 98 pounds- HAS LOST 12 POUNDS SINCE PREVIOUS WEIGH IN._ **

_My God_ Molly thought as she looked over at his profile again. She had never worked with someone this... _serious_ before. She could see why Mycroft wanted Help, and she would gladly help him.

 

She looked at the comments from past carers/doctors etc:

**_Comments: Sherlock has made NO NEW PROGRESS with past carers._ **

**_They all quit within the first fortnight while caring for Mr Holmes._ **

Molly gulped. Well that was reassuring. She had never worked at St Bartholomew’s before, and gladly, as she had heard some having _horrific_ stories about how the patients are treated there.

Apparently it was the place for the _lost cases._

 

She turned the page, and was presented with a stack of photographs.

Ah. The admittance photographs. One for every time that Sherlock had been admitted into St Barts, and there was _a lot._ _Too many for one person_ Molly thought.

Molly prepared herself, as she had never actually seen the youngest Holmes brother before, and according to Mycroft, she may be shocked at what she would see. She lifted the red folder cover, and gasped.

She was not expecting _that._

_The caption read: HOLMES, SHERLOCK  AGE 17._

He was wearing a light blue jumpsuit, which had his name on the left breast pocket. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing his pale forearms. He was tall, so very tall and he had lovely cheekbones. His nose was angular and straight and he had full, pink lips. He had curly dark brown hair, what seemed to make his skin look even paler. And his eye pierced through you, even through the photograph. He just looked like an ordinary teenager.

But she was missing the most vital part of the photograph.

He forearms were covered in scars, some faded and some looked fairly new, and had scabbed over and were raw and pink. His face was full of bruises and his eyes. He looked _scared, alone._

There were 9 photos in total, each one telling a slightly different story than the other. In each one, he got older, thinner; his cheekbones got more prominent and face longer. The scars on his arms faded, but only to be covered by more and more as the photos got newer.

His arms looked like battlefields.

In some photos he had bandages around his wrists, and each captioned with why he had been admitted. For example: June 13th  2001 – Suicide attempt – Paranoia – Flashbacks – Depression.

There were photos were he was shirtless against the white background, and it showed he had a long scar that started at his left hip, and ended near his belly button.

She got up to the most recent photograph, and a tear slipped from her eye.

The caption read: September 24th 2011- Attempted Suicide – Weight loss – Depression – Self inflicted harm. _Attempted murder._

He was aged 29. His cheekbones were prominent and looked as though they were going to cut through his skin. He looked so thin and His arms were full of more faded scars and it looked like he had carved a word _or letters_ into his left arm. It read _I.O.U._

She would ask Mycroft tomorrow is He knew the meaning.

He was still wearing a light blue jumpsuit and his hair was now black, than brown, but was still curly. He had a sullen look on his face and his eyes...

He looked _Broken._

Molly closed the folder and left it on her Kitchen table, before going into her bathroom and vomited into the toilet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Asylum-**

**Helloooo and here is chapter two of ‘Asylum’. I want to thank-**

**_MorbidbyDefault_ **

**_MoniMcCoy_ **

**_Billiejoe4ever_ **

**_Valeriejoanmorgan  -_ For reviewing and to everyone who are following and have put this story in their favourites. You beautiful people.**

**WARNINGS FOR TRIGGERS ETC...**

**DISCLAIMER- I DO NOT OWN SHERLOCK IN ANY WAY, SHAPE OR FORM.**

**(Sorry about the Caps Lock)**

**I promise that Sherlock will be in the next chapter :D**

After Molly has vomited the readymade chicken dinner, (Which was rather disgusting anyway), she splashed cold water on her face and looked in the mirror.

 _Come on women_ Molly thought to herself _you’re a Hooper for Christ’s sake_ , _you can do this._ And with an encouraging nod to her reflection, she marched out the bathroom with a new wave of confidence, and her head held high.

She walked into her kitchen, her cat at her feet and made herself a coffee. She wasn’t going to sleeping anytime soon, even if it was 12:40pm. Sherlock’s file had been like no other that she had seen before. Sure, she had serious cases, such as Catalina, but she didn’t know if she could take on another case just as serious as this. She knew she had agreed to it, but that was before she saw his file. What is she _failed_ again?

She couldn’t bare another Catalina incident.

Her phone buzzed on the table top, flashing with an unknown number. Has Mary got a new phone _again?_

 _God that women is clumsier than me_ Molly thought.

She picked up her phone and gulped. _That’s cheating!!_

_Don’t turn back now Miss Hooper. He needs you. – MH_

She wasn’t going to turn back... was she?

No. She wasn’t.  She typed back a reply.

**_I won’t. See you tomorrow. – M_ **

_God_ _you would think this is some kind of military operation..._

Well it kind of is. She knew that The Holmes were people of importance, had a lot of Money and just so happened to be quite _famous_ here in London. She wouldn’t lie and say she wasn’t nervous of meeting the older Holmes brother, he did sound very intimidating. And then there was the youngest.

She just hoped she would get in his good books, so to speak.

Molly sighed, and went back to the kitchen table, and opened Sherlock’s file again. She went to the ‘Carer’s Comments’ page – She didn’t even know these existed. Well she did, but she never got given one for her past patients.

**_Carer(s) Comments:_ **

**_Holmes, Sherlock – Aged 17_ **

**_‘Refuses to cooperate and take medication.’_ **

**_Aged 18_ **

**_‘Refuses to take Medication, only speaks to insult people. Two doctors quit for his behaviour. Wouldn’t let us clean his wounds, which led to infection – Had to strap him down.’_ **

_Oh..._  Molly gulped, before reading on.

**_Aged 24-25_ **

**_‘Refused to take Antidepressants and Sleeping Pills (For Paranoia) and refuses to eat set meals. Mr Holmes tends to pick fights with the other patients, and had to cuffed while around other patients.’_ **

**_Aged 28_ **

**_‘Refuses to let anyone clean wounds on wrist – Also refused to eat. Mr Holmes had to be sent to a separate room from his roommates for picking fights with one of his fellow roommates, James ‘Jim’ Moriarty._ **

**_Aged 29 – ‘Had to be cuffed as he was trying to take his own life with numerous objects. Surveillance on Mr Holmes had to be set up to its highest level and he was put in a confined room until he agreed to cooperate and take his medication. His paranoia caused him to lash out on the two guards restraining him as he tried to attack fellow patient ‘Jim Moriarty’ and after being took to his new room, he did not speak to anyone for 5 Days.’_ **

_Ok_ Molly thought, _this is going to be tricky._

Molly closed the file before putting it in her bag, and walking to her bedroom. She set her Alarm for 7am, deciding that it would be wise to _at least_ get4 hours sleep before she talks to The Holmes’s.

And of course, she needed to make up a plan. She knew this wouldn’t be easy, but when is anything easy?

 

 

 

 

**_Thursday, 3 rd March 2013 – 8:50AM_ **

****

Molly was waiting at the front of the block of apartments that she currently lived in ( _she was looking for a house originally, but we all know that didn’t work)._  She had got up at 7AM, determined and confident about the days plans. She was wearing comfy skinny jeans, a green knitted jumper and some green converse. Yes she knew that those clothes were hardly _professional_ but she thought that clothes that some other _Psychotherapist’s wore, such as fitted blouses and pencil skirts or suits and a ‘sophisticated’ brief case would make the patient feel rather cornered so she opted to wearing more casual clothing, to make it seem more like a friendly visit rather than an appointment about their mental stability._

_At exactly 9:00AM, A black car pulled up in front of her, and a man stepped out of the driver’s seat, and stepped around the car before pulling open the door for her to climb in. She quietly said her thanks before setting her bag down and climbing in._

_She turned her head and gulped._

_So this is Mycroft Holmes, then._

_He was a slightly older man, maybe in his late 30’s, early 40’s and he wore a fitted grey suit with a waist coat and had an umbrella in his grasp. He had straight, short cropped brown hair and (and what she could only describe as) Watery gray eyes. She could see the resemblance between him and Sherlock, and even sat down; he still had a very intimidating height._

_“Miss Hooper.” Mycroft nodded at her, and gave her a small smile._

_“Mr. Holmes.”_

_“I trust you read my brothers file then?” He looked at her knowingly. _Well it seems so since you had my number. What else can he see?!__

_“Yes... I read it through quite thoroughly...” Molly wanted to ask questions about the attempted murder on his father, but she didn’t want to seem rude. It is quite a personal question and he should probably wait to ask Sherlock if he felt he could trust her-_

_“You have a question regarding my brother; please don’t hesitate to ask, considering that he will be in your care for as long as you can stand him. You might as well presume with your questions, Miss Hooper.” He said all this while looking out of the window, and then turned to her with a raised eyebrow._

_“Um... Well...” She cleared her throat, “My main question is um... Why did he try to murder his, well_ _your_ _, father?”_

Mycroft looked at his feet for a second, before adjusting his grip on his umbrella and turning to her. _Oh no. I have said something wrong hasn’t I..._

“I suppose... That you should know, considering it would explain a lot of things, such as the paranoia, the attempted suicides; not all of them, but most, and of course trying to _murder_ him. Our Father was a heavy drinker, Miss Hooper, He tended to spend every hour he wasn’t working at the pub. Every time we saw him, he was drunk. And he being drunk wasn’t like say... A teenager being drunk. He was very violent when he had drunk too much. Well... He was always violent, and sadly... Sherlock was the one who always asked the wrong questions, at the wrong time. He was only 7, the first time our father hit him. We were all so shocked, even if we knew how violent he could be. To put it lightly, Miss Hooper, He beat my little brother to a pulp, which sent him to hospital. And he continued this until he was 22 years old, and Sherlock had been in and out of St Bartholomew’s since he was 15, but they never recorded him being there until he was 17. Our father didn’t want anyone to know that his youngest son had been sent to a ‘nut house’ as he put it. We all thought of course, that Sherlock would be in and out, swiftly dealing with his paranoia and mental damages that caused my brother to try and take his own life for the first time that our father’s beatings had caused him. He started to self harm himself and we knew that our father had broke him. So, when Sherlock got out of the asylum when he was 29, he was only out for 2 months before he tried to kill our father for all that he had put him through. We found him under our oak tree in the garden and slit wrists and bruises littering his skin. Then he was sent back, and put in Intensive Care and hasn’t been out since.” Mycroft finished, looking down. His grip on his umbrella was tight, and you see how tense his shoulders were through the layers of shirts and suits.

Molly was shocked. _That would explain most things._

“May I ask...? Did he ever hit you?” She asked, cautiously. She didn’t want to ask too many questions after what Mycroft just had to explain.

Mycroft looked at her sadly. “No. It was no secret, that I was deemed the ‘favourite’ child. I never asked questions, like Sherlock did. Sadly, his curiosity got him nowhere. It is also no secret either, that my brother resents me. We haven’t spoken in 4 Months, Miss Hooper. We haven’t had a civilised conversation since we were just little boys. He blames me for half of the situation he is in, as I never did anything to stop our father abusing him, like I should of.” Mycroft finished with a curt nod, before turning back to the window, and she saw that his grip on his umbrella relaxed a bit, but was still tight.

Molly took a deep breath, before turning back to look out of her window, and was left to her thoughts.

The Holmes family always sounded so bonded together in the articles people had wrote about them. Of course, she knew now, that that wasn’t true at-all. Her thought’s left her head, as she saw St. Bartholomew’s in the distance.

_Oh my God..._

**_MWHAHAHA CLIFFHANGER_ **

**_(Kind of)_ **

**_Sorry that it’s a bit shorter and lacking creativity but I HAD to get the second chapter before i go on holiday tomorrow and I am KNACKERED._ **

**_Sherlock is in the next chapter :D HUZZAHH!_ **

**_Thanks for reading,_ **

**** [ **_BHHGEFSLOTRTHZIMM98_ ** ](http://www.fanfiction.net/u/4699044/BHHGEFSLOTRTHZIMM98) ****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Fanfiction.net-http://www.fanfiction.net/s/9618757/1/Asylum


	3. Chapter 3

Asylum – Chapter 3

**_I really can not apologize enough..._ **

**_I came home from my holiday and I started to write this chapter just as I finished unpacking and then... brain fart._ **

**_AND THEN SCHOOL HAPPENED._ **

**_Again, I want to thanks everyone who has followed this story and added it to their favourites, including:_ **

-          **_billiejoe4ever (again, Thank you!)_**

-          **_Time Reviewer_**

 **_For taking the time to review on chapter 2_ ** **_J_ **

**_I have written about 6 different versions of how Molly and Sherlock would meet on my phone during the holiday (I know I’m very sociable) - And I have not used ANY of them.  I kept writing little parts each day and would leave it or delete it and start again and I seriously thought I was never going to finish this chapter..._ **

**_Anyway, guess who’s in this chapter?_ **

**_SHERLOOOOOCCKKKK!!_ **

**_Playlist for this Chapter – (stars mean you need to listen to them. DOO ITTTT.)_ **

**_*Demons – Imagine Dragons_ **

**_*Nothing Left To Say- Imagine Dragons_ **

**_*Sail – AWOLNATION_ **

**_Alone Together – Fall Out Boy_ **

**_Turn off the lights – Panic at the Disco_ **

**_Strange and Beautiful – Aqualung_ **

**_*Breathe of life – Florence and the Machine_ **

**_Dessa – Matches to paper dolls_ **

**_Paradise circus – Massive Attack_ **

**_*How to save a life – The Fray_ **

**_Hear me – Imagine Dragons_ **

**_*Over The Love – Florence and the Machine_ **

**_*Never Let Me Go – Florence and the Machine_ **

**_*Bleeding Out – Imagine Dragons_ **

**_Dog Days – Florence and the Machine_ **

**_*No Sound But The Wind – The Editors_ **

**_* Counting Stars – One Republic_ **

**_*Halo – Beyonce (I AM SORRY IT JUST FITS OK)_ **

****

**_This is probably going to be the playlist for the whole story – with the additional songs for some chapters._ **

**_DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SHERLOCK OR ANY OF its CHARACTERS – THE ALL BELONG TO MARK GATISS AND STEVEN MOFFAT, BBC ETC._ **

**_TRIGGER WARNINGS_ **

**_Enjoy!_ **

****

****

Mycroft had said that his brother was in a mental _Hospital_ but now she knew that was a **_lie._**

This was not a Hospital **. _This was a prison._**

She had never seen St. Bart’s in person, only in photographs and heard people talking about it on the news, saying that some physcopathic killer had been captured and taken into care there – That’s why she had refused past cases that were placed there – and of course she still had a rare nightmare of _a certain case._

It was terrible. The building its self was huge, she originally thought that it was small, secluded in a peaceful area with no distractions and a calm, quiet environment. _Well that was what she had heard, and the image in her head was entirely wrong._

The windows, Not that there were many anyway, were small and had... **Bars** on them _. Bars._ Looked approximately 20 floors and the bricks were dull and grey. It was surrounded by leafless trees and barbed wire. She sawguards walking around the perimeter of the grounds. They had ** _guns._**

She gulped.

She was... _terrified...To say the least._

“Miss Hooper, I assure you, it’s not as bad as it seems.” Mycroft stated, looking at her with a look of worry. She could tell he was lying through the grit of his teeth.

“It looks more like a prison than a hospital, don’t you think... Mr Holmes?” Molly asked quietly, sharing her observations with the eldest brother.

“His... _problems_ got to severe to stay in the _nice and clean_ asylums, Miss Hooper, they said he was a ‘lost case’ and sent him here to rot away. I refuse to do so. They of course still want to try their own... treatment here... but I’m still thinking about that. He is only 31, Miss Hooper; he deserves to live a happy life – Even if that means staying here for the rest of his days. He needs someone to bring him back – I _need_ my arrogant little brother back. Do you understand? You need to be the one to bring him back.” Mycroft looked at her, he looked older than he was – and he looked so, _so_ tired.

“I will try, Mister Holmes. I give you my word.” She placed a hand to cover his shaking leg, and smiled timidly at him. Everyone needed a smiling face in a time of need, her Gran always said.

He smiled back, if only for a moment, before turning back to his window. She was silent for the rest of the drive down the long road up to the black gates. In rusted steel letters, it read _‘St Bartholomew's_

When she heard the car come to a halt on the dirt, Mycroft grabbed her hand before she unhooked her seatbelt.

“There’s something that I haven’t told you... I didn’t tell you because of your past cases dealing with... This... And I feared it may send you away. My brother has seemed to form a... small... Case of schizophrenia due to his flashbacks... His other ‘self’ seems to be his... 7 year old self...” Mycroft explained, cringing as he waited for her reaction.

_His 7 year old self...?_

_As in when he talks in his other ‘form’ he’s an innocent little boy?_

_What?!_

She had never heard of anything like it before! She had heard of some cases who talked as and to their older selves, but never a version of themselves when they were 24 years younger than them!

“His... 7 year old self? Any reason why his other self is so...” she trailed off.

“Young?  Well... They did a bit of research, before giving up and just writing it down as another issue to add to his treatment list. I came to my conclusion this morning; actually, that is why it was not written down in the file that I sent to you. I believe that he has the second personality of his 7 year old self because our father did start beating him when he was just seven years old, and after hours of countless explanations, I think that it simply is just because Sherlock  never really had much of a childhood... And he has decided to get sucked into his flashbacks and is now in two halves. His 31 year old self and his... 7 year old self. I  guess...his younger self has decided to be the child he never got to be... Now. ” Mycroft finished, looking at her once, nodded and presumed to get out of the car.

“Thank you...” Molly muttered to the driver, before letting herself out and closing the door. She followed Mycroft through the door’s, and felt that she needed to know more about his new... self.

“You said he had flashbacks... do you know what the flashbacks are about?”

Mycroft glanced at her, before continuing to walk to the receptionist. Molly scuttled after him, feeling very _small_ against his tall frame.

“I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.”

 

“Names?” The guard seemed to look fairly cheerful for such a dull looking place. Molly could see out of the corner of her eye the firearm he had placed against the wall. _People must try to escape then...?_

“He must be new then...” Mycroft muttered, before putting a smile on – Not reaching his eyes – and saying, “Mycroft Holmes and Molly Hooper.”

The man choked on his coffee, and looking at Mycroft like he was a ghost or that person with the Hockey mask and chainsaw... what was his name... _Oh never mind that, Molly!_

“Holmes? Are you any relation to...? Sherlock Holmes?” He asked.

_So he’s well known around the staff then._

“Yes, if you could give us his log book, we would like to visit my _brother_ , if you would be so kind.” Mycroft said, His eyes looked almost predatory. _Oh, that’s scary,_ she thought.

The man handed Mycroft a small red book quickly which had Sherlock’s name on a label on the front cover. Mycroft opened it onto a clean page – She only saw his name fill the pages - before writing down the date and checking his watch to write the time.

_What about his Mother? A potential Aunt maybe?_

He signed his name and slid it over to me to write hers down. She neatly wrote it down, making sure there was no ink smudges, (She was Left handed,) before carefully closing it and passing it back to the man behind the desk. He nodded once, placed the book back in a file and looked at his computer screen like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

She glanced at Mycroft as he started down the hall, and turned to the receptionist/ guard.

“You seem scared of Sherlock Holmes... Why?” She asked, leaning in towards him so Mycroft wouldn’t overhear.

“Not him exactly, but he can be... violent... but whom he _associates_ with. He’s dangerous business missy, I recommend you stay away from him. The last person to try to help him was put in here himself just 3 months ago. Wouldn’t want to see your pretty face in ‘ere too.”

She gulped and leaned back, before replying “We’ll see.”

 

    She quickly started after Mycroft and remained behind him as they made their way down halls and up stairs. As they walked past she saw droplets... if she was not mistaken, blood, on the floor tiles and they walked past rooms – Cells more like full of people, who ignored or just stared at her as they walked by. She even had a little nosey and looked through the little circle windows of steel doors witch littered every corridor and found tables and platforms with straps and head gear.

  _This is a place of nightmares._

They reached a steel door, which had the initials ‘EIT/C’ and was guarded by two guards with AK-47’S. As they made their way down, Molly tried to ignore the other patients in the cells who wolf-whistled and made vulgar comments about ‘ _finally having a women to play with_.’ She felt Mycroft tense and she instinctively walked faster and matched his long strides.

Mycroft was stopped by one of the guards, but quickly dismissed him as he showed him his ID and told him who they were visiting. He stopped Molly, saying that he had not seen her before and to explain why she was seeing _him._

“She will be filling the position of his Psychotherapist from now on. She is to have an ID card made and to have access to his cell at any time – Am I understood?” Mycroft adopted a tone of authority with the guard, who audibly gulped before allowing them both access. Molly did not miss the mumbling which was directed at her before the doors closed.

“Good luck...”

Molly followed Mycroft through the steel doors and jumped slightly as she felt them seal shut behind her. She had her back turned to the cells and was staring at the doors and chipped white paint on the walls- She was looking at the sign above the door.

‘Extreme Intensive Treatment – ECU Cells Block 1.’

“How many blocks are there in...? Extreme Intensive Treatment?”

 _She had never heard of an ECU Cell before_. _Maybe it’s extra help?_

“Just the one.” Mycroft took a deep breath, before starting to slowly walk down the row of cells leaving Molly staring at the door. She wondered what they would be like. Would they be like the others? Doors crowded with a few people in each room or would they all be in a single cell? She had remembered about Sherlock having a room mate... What was his name?

Ah. James Moriarty.

 _I wonder if they are back in the same cell..._ She thought.

She took a deep breath and turned.

And was surrounded by white chipped painted walls and glass cells.

There were only 6 or 7 Cells in total, but the room was also filled with steel doors where she knew there were more of those... Tables. She slowly made her way down the cells, looking into them only to find white floors and walls and a single white bed hanging from the walls by two chains. She winced as her shoes echoed through the hall as she slowly made her way to Mycroft, who was waiting at a particular cell at the end of the hall, just staring blankly into it.

_Is he in there? Oh God I don’t think I can do this... Oh shut up for heaven’s sake Molly what would you grandmother think?! Pull yourself together women-_

_“_ He isn’t here yet, Miss Hooper. It’s lunchtime. It’s the only time he gets out of his cell – He tends to make the most of it.”

Molly felt, somewhat, reassured as she continued to walk down the hall. The white tiled floor gave her a headache. As she was about to reach Mycroft, she noticed a sign above one of the steel door’s and immediately came to a halt.

**_‘ALL COLLARS MUST REMAIN ON – UNCOOPERATION WILL LEAD TO SEDATION.’_ **

_A collar?_

“Mycroft... what’s a ‘Collar’?” She asked as she came up beside him, not daring to look into Sherlock’s cell just yet.

“It’s a... precaution that certain patients – Such as Sherlock has to wear on their necks. They call them ‘Suicide Collars’ to put it mildly. Basically, if their blood pressure were to go down more than a certain point – The Staff and Doctors would be informed immediately.”

“Ah... Has he had... any incidents yet...? Sherlock?”

“Only once, about a week after he came here. He saved all his medication over the week, which they had thought he had taken, and tried to overdose. Luckily I just arrived and I had to make him vomit. He ruined my favourite waistcoat. And to answer your question about our mother, No, she has never visited him. She is in fear that her social status will be degraded due to her youngest son having to live in an asylum. She is as worse as our father. She doesn’t care. Sherlock has not seen her for 3 years.” He answered with distaste.

She let the new information about her new patient sink in. She didn’t know how to respond to Mycroft’s very thorough descriptions of their upbringing. She thought that this whole thing was tragic really. She would never wish this kind of trauma upon _anyone_ , no matter how horrid they may be.

She turned and looked into Sherlock’s cell.

The other cells in this block seemed to be clean and looked hardly used – Which they probably were, Except for Sherlock’s cell and the other, which was completely opposite his.

She guessed that _that_ one was... James Moriarty’s cell.

Sherlock’s cell wasn’t as bad as she imagined it was going to be. It had the same bed’s as the others, Grey sheet’s – What she guessed used to be white, hanging off of the wall by two chains and had three straps with buckles. It had a periodic table poster on the opposite wall, which looked tattered and worn. There was also a steel door in the back wall, which she guesses was how to left and came back into their cells. It didn’t look like those glass walls were going to open anytime soon. The cells themselves were not as big as the others she had saw which fitted at least twenty people in. These cells could fit about ten people in at the most.

She was about to ask Mycroft about the poster which stood out against the white walls, before the intercom beeped a cheery tune and a female voice sounded.

“ _Can all ETUC patients return to their cell’s quietly and calmly, Thank you_.”

“Miss Hooper, I must warn you. The next couple of minutes will be a test. He... we both _deduce_ people. We simply observe, and we see more than a normal person would. But Sherlock is very... Truthful... and this is where most of the other doctors and therapists seemed to give up with him, as some of the things he says can be extremely... Hurtful. No matter what he says, don’t give up on him. He will learn to trust you, I’m sure.”

_Deduce? She suddenly felt a whole lot smaller than before._

Before she could ask Mycroft about what he had meant about ‘deducing’, rich Irish voices cut through her thoughts like a knife.

“You know, He simply gives you a look over and knows your whole life story. Pretty fascinating really. I actually found it to be a bit of a turn on. And I’m not even gay.” She turned to see a man with short cropped black hair, which was neatly gelled into place, wearing the same light blue jump suit that Sherlock had on in the photographs she had saw. His eyes were dark brown, almost black and she sucked in a big breath as she saw the name stitched onto the breast pocket.

She heard Mycroft sigh.

“James Moriarty... Hi.” He gave her a little wave and turned to Mycroft. “Mycroft, dearest, Created anymore wars yet? Pray tell.” Jim gave him a huge smile and she felt a stabbing feeling in her gut. He was very... _unnerving._

“Where is Sherlock, Jim?” Mycroft asked, glaring at Jim and swinging his umbrella.

“Spoiled Sport,” Jim frowned before continuing, “He’s getting his medication, and you should see his med cup, its huuuggeeee.” Jim drawled out the word and gave a toothy grin. “They even took my collar off, never needed it anyway. It feels great. Poor Sherlock though, always getting his plans ruined.” He turned back to Molly and she grimaced under his piercing gaze.

“So... Who are you then... Ah, you’re going to be Sherlock’s new ‘Therapist’! To be honest Mycroft, I don’t think she will survive the first deduction. She looks pretty... fragile.” He giggled before his eyes were focused in between Molly and Mycroft and a cruel smirk appeared on his lips.

“Sherly! Look who’s here! Brother Dearest and he’s brought fresh meat.”

“Ah... There you are Sherlock. I see they have boosted your medication. Is that a new pill? Whatever for?” Mycroft ignored Jim and turned to try and engage in small talk with his brother.

Molly gulped as Mycroft turned to his brother, and she took a deep breath.  She looked up to see Jim smirking at her and her heart stopped as he spoke quietly.

“Have fun.”

 

Molly let go of the breath she was holding, and slowly turned to see her new patient. A _million_ things were going through her head.

_Deductions? What in the world was a deduction?_

_Is he really as terrible as everyone she has come across says he is?_

_Don’t even get her started on the seven year old situation. She was terrified to experience an episode of that nature. She knew that these kind of thoughts were no were near professional but being phoned on a Thursday evening while she had, dare she say it, **enjoyed** a rather low par chicken dinner, by a man who she didn’t even know asking her to help with his 31 year old, troubled brother. Of course, she wanted to help – She really wanted to help him. Like Mycroft had said, Sherlock deserved to have a life, and she wanted to help him._

_God she sounded cheesy._

She walked up to the glass that separated Sherlock from her and Mycroft and looked up and was met with...

The back of Sherlock’s curly haired head as he sat in the middle of the cell, cross legged and holding his pill cup... well more like a _mug_ in his right hand and a black pill capsule in his left, holding it up to the light.

“You know Mycroft, this new pill just seems to be the same pill that I have been taking for the past 16 years but it has a different casing. It’s funny really, thinking that they can trick _me_.” A surprisingly deep voice echoed through the cell and Molly, once again, held her breath.

“Why would they add more medication for your paranoia? You already have three forms of medication for your flashbacks alone. It seems that I will be having a talk with your GP...” Mycroft trailed off as he conjured his phone out of his pocket and was already dialling a number and put it to his ear before Sherlock cut him off.

“What’s the point? It wouldn’t make any difference. There are the anti-anxiety medications – The azapirones, the hydroxyzine. Then there’s the antipsychotic medication- The clozapine, olanzapine, risperidon- Which supposedly are third generation antipsychotics. Don’t forget the antidepressants’ for my little problem,” He lifted both of his arms into the air to show his scarred forearms, “and even then, there’s still the vitamins for my eating disorders which apparently I still have. Idiots haven’t even weighed me for a month. And now I have the problem of my seven year old self, which now I have to take risperidone and pirmaclosapril to stop me from turning violent, and trying to kill him with the straps of my bed DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?” Sherlock stood up now, his full height towering over Molly’s as he walked up to the glass and stood in front of Mycroft, shaking and gritting his teeth.

Molly wanted to run, but she was frozen to the spot at the display in front of her.

“Someone’s getting annggrryyyyy!” Moriarty sung, trying to break the tension between the two brothers who seemed to be having a death match through the act of sight.

“Sherlock, you need to calm down.” Mycroft commanded, without breaking eye contact. Molly didn’t know what to do, she seemed to want to back away slowly away from the exchange from the two brothers but she was froze to the spot.

“ _I_ need to calm down? _Me?_ I can tell by the ink smudges on your right hand and the traces of ink on your forehead that your are under stress, most likely from me making the doctors _run_ away and you’re probably having a _little_ trouble finding someone who will put up with my _‘offending and truthful’_ way of speaking.” He spat out, inching closer to the glass so that the tip of his nose toughed the glass.

_His right hand?_

Molly spared a glance at Mycroft’s hand and saw nothing out of the ordinary – It was just a _hand with ink smudges._

_Four fingers, one thumb._

“That’s what he does. You know, he did it to me once-”

“SHUT UP! You talk and talk and _talk_! Why can’t you just SHUT UP AND LEAVE. ME. ALONE!” Sherlock turned from his stance that mirrored his brothers, and edged even closer to the glass in Moriarty’s direction. His fists where clenched and he was breathing through his teeth.

His eyes were filled with rage and anger... _Insecurity?_

Moriarty edged closer to the glass of his own cell, pressing his forehead and his amused look vanished. His mouth was straight and his eye looked as though they were going to pierce a hole in Sherlock’s head.

Before they could get even _closer_ to the glass, Mycroft intervened and stood between them, blocking them from each other’s gaze. He sighed, and rubbed his face with his hands, looking worse for wear and rather _pissed off._

 _“_ Sherlock... Please just take your medication. We have someone here to see you. Hopefully you won’t scare her off. No, you will not scare her off. Understood?” Sherlock stole a glance at his brother, before taking a deep breath and grimacing. He took the pill cup of off the floor, and placed half of the multicoloured and different sized pills onto his palm.

There was at least a handful.

“And you,” Mycroft pointed to Moriarty who was grinning in his cell, “Shut. Up.”

Moriarty did a motion of sealing his lips and throwing away the key, before he went to sit on his bed, just staring at them and smiling.

 _Oh,_ Molly thought, _I really do not like him._

She turned her attention back to Sherlock who was staring at the pills in his palm, which he had brought up to his face, like he inspecting them. Analyzing them. He looked so intrigued and so haunted and so incredibly _beautiful._

_Even Molly couldn’t deny that._

Mycroft was staring at him and sighed, and spared a glance at Molly. She smiled at him. This thing he did, when he zoned out of reality and into his mind. She guessed it bothered Mycroft but to her... She thought it was better than when he was before, insecure and agitated and incredibly angry. He looked much more comfortable and peaceful... Ethereal.

Seeming to snap out of his trance, He blinked and his head snapped up and stared at Mycroft before saying, “I need water.”

“Do they not normally give you any?”

“Sometimes they forget. Makes it much easier... Water, if you want me to take them.”

Mycroft sighed. “I’ll have to go to the staff and get some. Imbeciles...” Mycroft trailed off before Molly remembered something.

“OH! I have a bottle in my bag!” She reached into her bag which was perched on her shoulder and pulled out a small bottle of water, before passing it to Mycroft who smiled at her.

“Ah! Thank you, Miss Hooper.” She smiled back, finally feeling useful. She looked from Mycroft, expecting Sherlock to be expecting his pills again but when she looked back across she saw him staring right at her.

_Oh God._

His eyes were trained on her as she stared back and she gulped as she saw his eyes roam her entire being. He looked so concentrated.

“This is Molly Hooper. She is your psychotherapist from now on.” Mycroft said slowly, hoping to God he didn’t make her run away like the _oh so many_ others that had ran after the first few _hours._

Sherlock continued to stare at her as Mycroft put his hand through the metal slider in the glass with was the only way to contact the other without going around and through the door on the other side of the cell. There was also a less high security door on the side of the cell, which was easy to access. _Probably in case Mycroft wanted to go inside his cell._   Mycroft help out the half empty bottle of water and cleared his throat so that his brother would take it. Sherlock blinked, before half turning and reaching for the bottle with his free hand and unscrewed the cap.

 _That was intense_ Molly thought. The way he looked at her... She had the breath took out of her. He looked at her as though he was trying to figure out her life story...

And then she remembered.

_He simply gives you a look over and knows your whole life story._

Jim Moriartys words echoed in her mind. What if he did?

What if he knew about...?

No... He couldn’t... Could he?

She gulped, and looked back at Sherlock. He gave Mycroft a glance, and looked at the pills in his hand before shoving the first handful of pills into his mouth all at once and took 3 big gulps of water. He shook his head and grimaced as he felt the pills slowly dissolve and slide down his throat.

He repeated the process again with the last handful of pills, and drunk the remains of what was Molly’s water for the day. She would just get another.

He placed the bottle on the floor next to the now empty cup on the floor. He turned to Mycroft.

“Happy?”

“Of course. Thank you for doing as you’re told for once brother.” Mycroft let a small smile appear on his face.

Molly looked at Mycroft and saw guilt across his face before it disappeared without a trace. She wondered why he would feel guilt. Well, of course, it was no mistake in saying that it was most likely a terrible experience to have a younger sibling in such a state. He probably felt the need to protect his younger brother, and maybe he felt like he wasn’t because he was in here... Wait.

Maybe Mycroft didn’t protect him when he needed it most.

_May I ask...? Did he ever hit you?_

_No... It was no secret I was deemed the ‘favourite child’..._

As she looked back at Sherlock, who was starting to look drowsy and tired. His eyes drooped and he was swaying slightly where he was stood. _The pills for his paranoia must be kicking in_ , she thought.

As Mycroft was about to speak to him, She put her hand out to stop him, and stood up to the glass, so that she was stood directly in front of Sherlock’s nearly sleeping form. She took a deep breath.

“Sherlock,” She spoke in a soft voice, careful not to startle him as he was nearly fast asleep, “Go and lie down and go to sleep. You need some rest to sleep of the pills.” She saw his eyes open, and she saw how clouded they were as he tried to stay awake. His eyebrows furrowed.

“I... I don’t...” He tried to argue with her but she could see he was winning. She actually wasn’t sure he would reach the bed in time before his body shut down from exhaustion.

She placed her bag on the floor and made her way to the side door and made to open it when Mycroft put her off.

“Miss Hooper, I don’t recommend-”

“It’s ok Mr Holmes.”

And with that, she opened the door slowly, and walked up to him quietly. Mycroft watched, poised and ready in case Sherlock got scared from contact. He did not liked to be touched since what happened with their father. He thinks everything as a threat.

Molly saw that the cell was smaller than it looked from outside of the glass, and saw just how _tall_ Sherlock was compared to her small frame as she walked up to him. She placed her hand lightly on the top of his arm, and he immediately flinched away and saw his face scrunch up. His sharp intake of breath nearly told her to back off but she kept her hand on his arm and lightly squeezed.

“I’m not going to hurt you Sherlock; I’m just helping you get to bed...” She felt his tense arm relax a little under her fingertips and she placed her other hand on his left hand to slowly guide him to his bed. He, to Mycroft and her amazement complied and slowly started to shuffle to the bed as she kept his balance for him.

As she helped lower him onto his bed, he slowly turned onto his side and curled into himself, almost as if he was protecting himself.

She made sure that he was all ok, and she turned to leave, mighty proud of herself that she got him to actually listen to her. He looked peaceful as she turned to leave but the next 10 words that came out his mouth shocked her, and most defiantly Mycroft.

“I don’t know why Molly Hooper... But I trust you.” He murmured in a barely audible voice, and with that, he curled into himself even more and a soft snore left his mouth.

Molly was shocked... and a little bit heart warmed.

Mycroft was lost for words. No one trusted easily.

_Especially not Sherlock Holmes_

Mycroft stared at Molly in wonder as she slowly made her way out of his cell. No one, and he meant no one, had _ever_ made Sherlock emit a reaction such as this.

_Who are you, Molly Hooper?_

**_THANK THE LORDS IT IS DONE._ **

**_I want to thank you all for sticking with me while waiting for this chapter, you beautiful people. I hope this chapter was worth the wait, and it is inconsiderably longer than the last two (over 5000 words, YAY!)_ **

**_I am also on www.Archiveofourown.org now, so ‘Asylum will also be posted on there._ **

**_I might make a separate Tumblr for it aswell, I don’t know... decisions, decisions._ **

**_Sorry about all the songs as well, I just really like having playlists with stories, and a lot of the songs I picked for this story fit in well so please try and listen to them if you have the time!_ **

**_Thanks again!_ **

**_BHHGEFSLOTRTHZIMM98_ **


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4

 

_**Hello!** _

_**OK HEAR ME OUT!** _

_**I had Exams I needed to prepare for.** _

_**Word Document decided to delete all my files and I have now lost all of my chapters...** _

_**It has also locked me out all together so now Word Document is now useless to me and now I have to write chapters in Copy-N- Paste in Doc manager which is very frustrating.** _

_**AND then I had to start chapter 4 from scratch, and I had wrote AT LEAST 4,000 words...** _

_**So yeah. I'm pretty peeved off.** _

_**ANYWAY! I know have a tumblr account which you could follow if you wanted updates or that sort of thing! There's a link to a playlist on there as well.** _

_**: /hypsterPlayer/MPL?media_type=playlist &playlist_id=6780359&us_id=5074080 (playlist)** _

_**For the Tumblr, just type : bhhgefslotrthzimm98 dot tumblr dot com** _

_**A special thank you to everyone who has Favorited, reviewed and followed this story!** _

_**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SHERLOCK OR ITS CHARACTERS. THEY BELONG TO MARK GATISS, STEVEN MOFFAT AND SIR ACD.** _

_**\- If there are any mistakes I apologize.** _

_**Chapter 4:** _

* * *

_Molly Hooper sat in front of the TV with her Grandmother with questions that needed answers swirling around in her little noggin. She of course was too scared to ask as her Grandmother was very adamant to answer any of Molly questions. Molly has gotten to that age where curiosity took over her and she simply needed to know_ _**everything.** _

_Molly Hooper was 6 years old. She was 42 inches tall and weighed 50 pounds. She was a happy child, most of the time. When she remembered things from her past she would cry a little, and go to her Grandmother for comfort. Her Grandmother, Elsie Domma, was a loving women, age 62 and had a big heart. Little Molly was her pride and joy, since she had raised her for two years. This may seem like a short period of time but it seemed like Molly was as much as her child than her own daughter._

_Now, you may be wondering why Molly wasn't living with her Mother and Father, like most 6 year old's. You see, Molly's Mother was once a loving young women, just like her own Mother until greed took over._

_Once upon a time, a lady called Joanne Domma, at the young age of just 20, married a man called Dominic Hooper in a church on the 5th of July. It was a happy marriage, and as soon as little Molly came along they were so happy. They had their own family now._

_Dominic Hooper was a very wealthy man. He had a good job in a company which made over £100,000 pounds a year. They had a lovely grand house with high ceilings and marble flooring. Only the best for the Hooper's, He would say._

_Lets just say, The Hooper's were never short of money._

_As the years went by, and by the time Little Molly was 3 years old, Dominic had reached the highest in his ranking, and became head of his own office in a trade unit. His job was to know which company's would provide the best income, without actually taking too much money from them. He, of course, was great at the job, a great negotiator and always brought the money in. Dominic started bringing double the money home to his family, and spent it all on grand renovations and presents for his darling wife and daughter, he even bought a little lake house in Switzerland._

_He didn't actually save any of it. Idiot._

_One day, Dominic Hooper made the wrong decision, and instead of bringing in the money, he had lost it all. He became too cocky over the years of success and of course decided he was ready to make bigger offers. He made the company loose its high rank in the list, all for a stupid mistake. He had made mistakes before, but tiny ones which hardly left a dent in the company's wealth.  
_

_He sadly, lost his job and the Hooper's were forced to leave the high ceilings and marble floors that had become their home. Molly Hooper, only being 3 years old was too young to understand the loss and just waddled around on her chubby toddler legs on the carpet of their new council flat._

_Drowning in his failures and lost of what was his career, he turned to alcohol to help him get through the days of crap telly and benefits. He had too much pride to ask for money from his other siblings, who would of refused anyway. The alcohol changed him, made him reckless and careless._

_Molly's Mother also felt the need to get away from what was their life now, and the kind women was gone, overcome by greed and loss. She felt like she was above all of this - This flat, horrible wallpaper and carpets to match. She had simply forgotten what her life used to be like and became engorged with the high life she once had. She had forgotten that life could still be happy, full of friends, family and new beginnings. They had Molly now, this could be a new start for her, and for all of them._

_She stopped talking. She avoided her husband like he was the plague. He had given up trying to speak to her, after being happily married for 3 years they both seemed to forget the vows they swore to follow._

_" **For better or for worse..."**_

_Molly was oblivious, only being 3 years old she just seemed to walk and gabble about nonsense, trying to get her Mother or Fathers attention like any other 3 year old would do. But they just drowned in their sorrows over the lost money and house. They still fed her and took her to bed, soothed her when she cried - but that was all. No cuddles for the sake of loving their daughter, from the joy of having this small little life who was a little bit of them both in their hands to cherish and love._

_They didn't see the joy Little Molly could give them. Her father practically lived at the pub, and her Mother just stared at a wall or the TV, never drank the tea she had made and left it to cool on the table. She was just a shell now, a shell of what she once was._

_She had outbursts of anger towards Dominic. **" This is your fault!" "We are above this and you let us fall down to this level!"**_

_It was only 5 months into the downfall that social services had to become involved. They seemed to realize that Molly was not attending day school, and came round for a 'friendly chat'._

_They saw how the Hooper's had fallen apart, just saw the remains of a once loving family. They saw the little ray of hope that was Molly Hooper, scooped her up and let her play with the hem of his collar while he carried her out of the flat and into the police car - giving her her doll she had grew very fond off._

_They told them they were taking her away unless they could sort out their ways. Molly's mother, of course being on her own as her husband was digging his grave in a pub that didn't even sell nice beer, couldn't see how they could provide for the small child, and with her last shreds of commonsense, let them take her daughter away._

_She knew that they couldn't provide for her. She knew they were terrible parents. Molly deserved better... Her little Molly._

_She went to live with her grandmother. She took her in, not even starting to think about letting her go into a care home. She was 3 years old for Christ's sake._

_She didn't know what to do about her daughter. Her stupid, stupid daughter who let this poor little ray of sunshine out of her life. Surely she raised her just so? To never give up and to always do what was necessary? For example, Talk about this drastic change, get a job and provide for Molly._

_Elsie Domma decided to raise_ _Molly completely different than her daughter. She wanted Molly to be kind, loving and compassionate. She wanted her to find love in the future - Marry a nice man and never, and she meant never, let what happened to her mother happen to her. To never give up hope and always open your heart to those who need you love the most._

_Lucky isn't it? That Elsie Hooper had succeeded._

* * *

"So, What's he like, then? This new patient of yours?"

Greg took a hearty swig of his pint, before placing it on a place mat (Too Molly's request) on the table. John and Mary nodded in agreement into their drinks, wanting to hear the new gossip of their friends work.

She knew that they didn't exactly approve of her job choice. They thought she was too innocent to work with people who were troubled by their past or struggling with addictions. But, She worked with dead bodies... She wasn't exactly squeamish. She knew what she had signed up for. Just not with Sherlock Holmes. She had to figure him out. Like a puzzle. A very, _very,_ complicated puzzle.

She didn't exactly know why she did the job at first. She could use the extra money, treat herself to a lovely bottle of expensive wine or a new book. She knew she wanted to help people, help them have their lives back and wanted to feel the sensation of waving goodbye to one of her patients as they walked off into the sunset, eager to start their new life of happiness and adventure.

She also knew that that was just a  _daydream,_  a goal it seems, that she wishes to for-fill. This profession, this job, was a lot more serious than that. She knew what she was walking into as soon as she started to study and train. She knew how serious it could become as soon as Catalina had made a big impact on her life. She had to watch that little girl waste away in front of her and as much as she helped... It just didn't get any better. She had felt so useless and she didn't... She never wanted that to happen again.

Sherlock would not be easy. Maybe even worse than Catalina and she wondered if she had the mental strength to watch him get worse and cave into his mind and never come out again.

No.  ** _No._**

It was either she saw him waste away in that god forsaken asylum or she saw him happy and getting on with his life. Using his skill of deduction as a job and fulfilling his true potential.

Maybe even having a family.

That's what she wanted to do. To bring him that happiness that a family or a job could bring.

"He's... He's different. I haven't really spoken to him, he was drugged up on medication for the most part. I can't really say much more." She respected the rules of patient confidentiality and decided that they shouldn't know his last name as they could come up with some kind of connection. She figured 'Sherlock' wouldn't exactly be discreet but Mycroft had suggested that telling her friends (or comrades as he said) about him may help her to figure out how to deal with him... Thinking aloud, he said.

He used so many technical words and Molly was an intelligent women but she just couldn't keep up.

"If he's allowed out of that place, you could bring him to the Christmas party at John and Mary's place. Get him back to the outside world, y'know. It's still 3 months off yet." Greg suggested, hoping that this fellow was a social butterfly of some sort. Molly didn't know what to think. If they knew about his whole story, would they still want to meet him? She thought it was a grand idea! Get him outside for some fresh air and socializing. Not now, of course, She would see in the three months on how he progresses. He still needed to gain her trust. She hasn't even talked to him properly yet. Who knows? He might even enjoy it.

John again nodded in agreement,"Sure, He can meet Mrs Hudson. I'm sure she'll enjoy stuffing him with her selection of biscuits. If he wants, he could come along, no bother, right Mary?"

"Of course." She nodded enthusiastically, still munching on some pork scratching's, and she felt blessed. These people, these wonderful people who had welcomed a man they didn't even know and was more complex than they could imagine, practically with open arms.

"Thank you, I don't know what to say..." She shook her head in disbelief, "Maybe... Hopefully."

* * *

"Could I get some pain killers?" Sherlock suddenly piped up, cracking his back as he had been slouching onto the table, and sat up straight to steeple his fingers under his nose.

"You already take pain killers." Mycroft merely raised an eyebrow.

"We've acquired new neighbors who tend to have a little meltdown in the middle of the night - I can't think clearly." He looked around, gesturing to the patients around him who all had individual problems of their own. They had family members pining over them, giving them magazines and books, saying that they looked well and hugging them. There would of been a time when Sherlock would have craved the comfort of others - such as family. It was unfortunate his family was full of wankers.

"Should we play deductions?" He asked, looking around. "See, Billy's brother over there is having an affair with his nurse. Naughty, naughty."

"Sherlock-"

"Affair, Affair, Debt, Drug addict and oh look! Another Affair-"

"For God's sake, Shut up!"

"Oh come on, I've been cooped up in here for ages!" Sherlock sulked and crossed his arms over his chest in a huff.

"In regards to your question, Need I remind you of the event that took place 6 months prior? No Sherlock, You cannot have more painkillers." Mycroft scowled as he remembered what had happened when he had provided extra medicine for Sherlock. Never again.

"God, you are a spoil sport. I have a collar now. Surely you trust me enough." Sherlock waved his hand to show Mycroft the annoying piece of technology on his wrist. " I won't ruin another waistcoat, which I am not sorry for. It was hideous."

"No Sherlock."

"Aspirin?"

"No."

"What about Neurofen?"

"That's a child's medicine. No."

"Worth a shot."

Sherlock looked around before turning back to his brother. "You never told the others."

"They never asked."

"And she did?"

"Yes." Mycroft fiddled with his umbrella handle as Sherlock ran his thumb across the scars on his forearm and over the 'collar' on his wrist in thought.

"Why?"

"It seems her intentions are genuine. She want's you to get out of here."

"Maybe I don't want to leave."

"Clearly you do, Sherlock. You will not drive her away, understand?"

Mycroft only got a sigh and a grumble in response.

"You know I don't like the mumbling, Sherlock. What was that?"

Sherlock sighed, "What if she end's up like the last one. I saw him before, ran away. He's pretty screwed up Mycroft. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

Mycroft saw how his brother was trying to change his mind, trying to show him what he would do to her if he didn't send her away. With his last carer, he had deduced him - Told him about his appalling marriage and that his wife was seeing all these different men behind his back. That his son was getting involved with the wrong people and was obtaining a a very serious drug habit. Seeing as the man was under so much stress already, with work ( His boss was literally breathing down his neck) he snapped and had a mental breakdown. He even tried to throttle Sherlock- Who hit him on the head with his collar, knocking the man out cold as he was placed in a cell for treatment and assessments on his health.

"Oops." Was the only thing Sherlock had said in reply regarding what he done to the man's now messed up life.

"She's stronger than she looks, Brother mine."

Sherlock scoffed, "Brother mine."

There was a silence that surrounded them and it seemed almost choking to them. They were brothers... I wasn't supposed to be like this. But, Mycroft supposed, with a history like theirs, it was to be somewhat expected.

"How be Mother?"

"She wants to see you. It's been years."

Sherlock's face instantly hardened and Mycroft saw as his eyes flooded with anger. Mycroft still talked to their Mother, she had divorced Siger Holmes when Sherlock last came into St Bartholomew's (When he was 28). She regretted what she had never done to stop him from harming her boy. She regretted when she thought that her social status was more important than her own son. She missed him.

"She should of thought of that before she put her stupid parties and gatherings with the other poncy gits before the welfare of her son."

"Shouldn't you be at one of your meetings? Which you clearly hate attending. Come to think of it, Shouldn't I be the one attending?"

_Ah. Those meetings._

"Sherlock..."

"It's funny isn't it? How all of those rich, pompous,  _gullible_  people believe every single word that comes out of that man's mouth because he is more condescending than them. And there you are, joining in and standing up in my place to accept the reward for my so called  _success?_ What makes you think that I want to be accepted by those  _imbeciles_? They think they know everything about Mr Holmes and his big,  _big_ , prosperous company and his two sons who are holding up to the family name. They know  _nothing!"_ Sherlock all but sneered to the man across from him. Mycroft sighed and looked at his watch before standing up and tucking his chair under the steel table.

"Good afternoon, Brother. I have a... Meeting... to attend." Mycroft turned to walk away, but Sherlock's voice made him turn around again.

"Tell Father his business is running strong in Philadelphia. See if he gets the  _joke_." Mycroft nodded and just before he turned to walk away, he saw how his little brother's mouth twitch into a sad smile.

* * *

Molly Hooper woke up and looked out of her window and she wasn't surprised to see that it was British weather was living up to its expectations. Rain. Lots and lots of rain.

And she was also not surprised to see a black car roll up outside of the building.  _What time was it?_

10:30 am. She guessed Mycroft had give her a lie in. She got ready quickly, wearing a colourful striped jumper given to her by her grandmother and some comfortable baggy pants. Judging how the tree outside her window was swaying rather dangerously close to her bedroom, she guessed it was quite chilly outside. She donned her pink and black striped scarf and put on a knitted hat before grabbing her bag just as she heard her phone go off.

**_Car is outside of your building. MH._ **

Nodding at her phone, she patted Toby on the head. She put on her coat and left her flat, Saying good morning to Mr Flannigan on the way past to the stairs. She had a spring in her step ( Must of been the lie in) and she was glad as she knew that today was going to be difficult. This was going to be their first proper conversation and she would be lying is she said she wasn't at least a tiny bit terrified. Sherlock Holmes was more complex than she could imagine and so heavily guarded, she knew it would take time to gain his trust. She was confident in her methods (Which where in no way similar to the ones she had been taught - which in her mind where ) and what she had to do now was to figure him out. She had to learn his personality - which she had already had a glimpse at during her first encounter with him. She had to learn him - To get the best possible outcome (And because she just wanted to meet the Sherlock Holmes beneath the mask). She had to know what he felt about his past, let him release all of the pent up emotion that he had withheld during his horrendous childhood. She had seen it before, what happens when all the emotion becomes too much. It tears you apart, piece by piece until you just can't go anymore. The weight is so heavy, your hanging on by your fingertips to the last shred of your sanity and one day you just  _have_ to let go. Sherlock was an prime example... And it scared her.

And what worried her was that Sherlock Holmes had had over 24 years of isolation and pent up emotion and she was scared he would break before she could piece him back together.

* * *

When Mycroft's car pulled up into the the path of his family home, he took a deep breath before venturing out of the car. He saw the other member's cars of his fathers board parked on the gravel. He also spotted a TV camera crew van - which he guessed where the reporters and journalists transport. He adjusted his grip on his umbrella and slowly made his way to the wooden double doors and turned one of the handles and was graced with the presence that was the front room. His footsteps echoed through the halls as his shoes hit the black and white tiles and wood flooring as he made his way to the main stair well; A huge, spiraling staircase that led to the second and third floor of their home. He was about to take the first step, but a memory surfaced from the back of his mind and stopped him in his tracks.

_A 16 year old Mycroft took a last drag of his_ _cigarette - He didn't even like smoking - before throwing it to the floor and rubbing it into the stone until the orange embers of the ash burned out. He took out a tiny bottle of cologne from his pocket and sprayed it on him to get rid of the smoke, he knew they would know but he didn't want to stink of smoke, did he? Grabbing his suitcase, he straightened his coat and rang the doorbell._

_Two curious, blue-green eyes peeked up at him through a mass of black curls as the small boy was stood on a stool, his arm reached up and still gripped on the door handle. Obviously, he was too small to reach the handle and needed the aid of the foot stool that always rested near the shoe rack. Mycroft was about to say something before the boy closed the door again, but not completely._

_Mycroft heard him dragging the stool back to it's original place and then the soft pitter patters of Sherlock's footsteps as he came back to the door. He patiently waited for his 4 year old brother to open the door and he saw a pair of tiny hands wrap around the door frame to open it fully. When he had finished pushing the door back as far as he could (Mycroft couldn't blame him - it was a very heavy door) and he stood, waiting for Mycroft to come in._

_When Mycroft had finally stepped into the house and put his suitcase down_ _, he turned back to his brother to find him pushing the door back closed. He watched as he struggled with the weight of the door and Mycroft sighed. He walked over, and stood behind him and pushed the door closed with a single push. Sherlock nearly fell at the sudden movement and Mycroft let out a little chuckle. Sherlock turned around with a huff and crossed his arms over his small chest._

_"I didn't need any help!"_

_"You would still have been there next sunday, Sherlock."_

_Sherlock glared at his older brother before his face split out into a large, toothy grin and he ran to Mycroft and wrapped his arms around his legs. Mycroft, not exactly expecting the sudden change, patted Sherlock on his curly head._

_"I missed you, Mycroft. It's been so boring but Mummy got me a dog, he's called Redbeard!"_

_Mycroft had been at boarding school for the last 7 months. He didn't write to his family in that time. The boarding school he attended was over 200 miles away from where they lived, so he skipped the family holidays and weeks off as well._

_He looked down at Sherlock who was still hugging his legs. He patted his head again._

_"A...A dog?"_ _He felt Sherlock nod againt his thigh and looked around the and saw the signs as clear as day._

_Imprints on the stair carpet, hairs in the corners of the room and obvious slober stains on Sherlock's clothing._

_Just as Sherlock was pulling away, he took a deep sniff and stepped back. He looked up at Mycroft and narrowed his eyes._

_"You've been smoking, haven't you?" He smirked at Mycroft's face and giggled even more when Mycroft put his finger to his lips as to say 'Shh!'_

_Sherlock nodded his head, his curls bouncing and he took Mycrofts hand in his. He began dragging him towards the dining room._

_"Come on! Mummy said food will be ready soon..."_

Mycroft blinked, and was back to reality. He adjusted his grip on the banister of the staircase and made his way up the stairs, leaving the memory of a 7 year old Sherlock behind him.

* * *

The ride to Bart's seemed shorter than the last time and before she knew it, Mycroft was staring at her through the window of the car, waiting patiently for her to get out. She said her thanks to the driver, who nodded his head in return, and stepped out to meet the eldest Holmes brother.

"Good Morning, Doctor Hooper." He nodded his head to her in greeting. She smiling as he said 'Doctor'. She liked to be addressed as Doctor Hooper, but it reminded her of the morgue too much, which wasn't a problem - She actually enjoyed working as a pathologist. Working with the dead seemed to be easier than working with the living. As morbid as it sounds. She liked to give the family members some type of comfort, they deserved to know what had happened. But when she was here and helping with people who were  _living,_  she preferred to be called Molly. Being called Doctor also reminded her of doctors she had worked with in the past - She had taken a disliking to  _all_  of them.

"I appreciate you calling me 'Doctor' Mr Holmes, but please call me Molly."

"Very well... Molly... Then please, call me Mycroft." He gave her a small smile and held out his hand in a sign of agreement. She giggled at his awkwardness, and took his hand in hers and shaked it slowly, before he drew back and readjusted his grip on his umbrella handle. He motioned for her to follow him through the main entrance and lead her to the desk where the same guard from the last time she was here was typing furiously at his keyboard.

"If you would sign in, you can get to work, Meet me at the ECU Cells when you are ready... Sherlock asked to discuss something of an important matter with me. Excuse me." He walked back down the hall, she assumed back to Sherlock and she watched as he swung his umbrella with every other step. Such a strange fellow.

She turned back to the reception desk and cleared her throat to get the guards attention, "Sherlock Holmes's sign book, please." She smiled at the obvious shock in his eyes, before he bent down to the lower filing cabinet and placed Sherlock's book on the desk in front of her. She grabbed the pen from the side, and carefully wrote her name under Mycroft's neat scrawl, writing the date and time next to it. She handed the book back and smiled.

"I see you're back then, miss."

"Yes.. Well. Have a nice day, Sir." She was about to walk off when his voice called for her to turn around, " If you're going to be 'ere often... The names Sam. And you're..." He looked back down at her name in the book, " Miss Molly?" She nodded and smiled. " Have a nice day Molly."

"You too Sam."

* * *

She walked down the white halls, trying to block out the voices of the other patients. She maneuvered her way through the corridors and through the units before she reached the door leading to the ECU Unit Sherlock was in. She got out her ID Card (Which Mycroft got or he to give her access to Sherlock at any time, which she was grateful for) And showed it to the guards who only grunted in response before opening the door. She smiled at them - She didn't know why, frankly they quite annoyed her. Walking through the door, she was greeted with the white chipped walls that she would soon become accustomed too, but saw that Mycroft was no where to be seen. She saw how the other patients in the ward seemed to be on break, and she could tell that there where now new residents, judging by the state of the cells. The cell to her left  _was_  a state, the covers where ripped off of the bed and what she hoped was food was smeared across the walls. The cell to her right had multi-coloured pill's scattered along the floor and wasn't much better than the other. She saw a opened head gear lying on the floor in the corner and she felt her insides turn. She hated how patients in the 1800's were treated - Head gear, dunk tanks, shock therapy. It  _disgusted_  her. She, of course, had researched methods used by the doctor's in the early years of mental health - It was required for the training - and she had learned about medicne through the ages during her history GCSE's. The methods they thought would make these poor people  _better..._  It shocked her how they could treat another human being so horridly. She understood that at first, they had to try out these methods to see if they worked at all, but if they wasn't helping the patients show any sign of improvement, then you stop doing them. Seeing a piece of headgear in this persons cell in the 21st century shocked her. So many new procedures had been discovered; Some of which were still be horrifying to even think about but they  _worked._

_Now she understood why not many people got out of this mental institution._

Seeing how the other cells were empty, she wondered if Sherlock had gone on a break too. She went to make her way towards Sherlock's cell when she heard Sherlock's voice quietly echo through the corridor.

"They are doing something with the patients. I think their giving them some toxin or some kind of gas; Mycroft their doing something... If you just let me look around-"

"What they do to other patients is none of your concern, Sherlock. You should focus on your recovery, not thinking of running around the asylum because you think something is going on!" Mycroft's voice snapped back at him and Molly held her breath.

"Listen to me. They are doing  _something._  I _know_  there testing on them. Just let me-"

"No you listen to me. You are not a 7 year old boy anymore Sherlock. You can't run around and solve mysteries with Redbeard like that stupid TV show on the television. You are a 32 year old man and you are not healthy. You need help." Mycroft saw how Sherlock's jaw tightened and carried on while Sherlock was silent for once. "Look... Sherlock, We will get answers when you next have an assessment ,They want to see if you... Qualify... For a new type of treatment and see if a new method will work with conditions such as yours. This treatment is not exactly-"

"Don't you dare think for a  _second_  that I am letting them anywhere near me again-"

Molly knew she had to intervene before it turned into a full fledged argument. She walked up to Sherlock's cell to see him sat on his bed, his eyes intense and his hands gripping the sheets. Mycroft looked calm but his hand was clenching the handle of his umbrella and his stare just as intense. Molly cleared her throat and they both looked at her as she stood awkwardly on the other side of the glass.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Yes." "Not at all-." Mycroft turned to Sherlock, as if to say  _Shut up,_  who was all but  _glaring_  at Molly as stared back at him.  _Keep it together you're doing **great.** You are in control Molly Ann Hooper!_

"We were going to move into canteen area... Shall we?" Mycroft moved to the side door and opened it, waiting for Sherlock to move. Molly watched as Sherlock's gaze flickered to the door and then back to her, like he was contemplating whether or not he wanted to go anywhere near her. It was very unnerving, the way he stared at her. She didn't know what to do! So she just stared back at him, adding a small smile in his direction to try and tell him _I just want to talk._

As though he read her mind, he stood from the bed and walked to the door on the back wall which must take them to the canteen area. Mycroft opened the side door, which she went through the last time she was here, and closed it with a bang as she stepped into the cell. She watched how Sherlock jaw and shoulders tensed as she stepped closer to him, waiting for Mycroft to unlock the back door. When it was opened, Sherlock all but rushed out and was already halfway down the hall before Molly was even out the door. She heard Mycroft sign.

"If you would follow me, Molly."

When they got into the canteen, she scanned the area for Sherlock to find him sitting on one of the tables in the far right corner of the (rather small) room. She took a deep breath.

_He obviously wants to scare you away, so you have to stay strong! Remember-_

"I'll leave you two alone, I'll be other there." _wait- what?_

Before Molly could even think to stop him he was marching off into one of the vacant seats, maneuvering his way though the patients.  _Right._

Molly walked over to the seat opposite Sherlock's and placed her bag on the cringed as her seat screeched against the floor as she pulled it back, and cringed even more when she tucked herself back in. She felt Sherlock staring at her and when she looked up she wasn't surprised to see him staring at her with narrowed eyes. His hands were clasped beneath his chin, so Molly folded her arms and placed them onto the table in front of her.

Molly cleared her throat. "Hello-"

"Please don't feel the need to make conversation, everything you would ever need to know about me is typed up or wrote in a file somewhere. Surely, judging by a women of your intelligence, you would think to look at them before even thinking about trying to have a civil conversation with me."

"I've read one of them. I prefer to do my own editing." Molly pulled out Sherlocks file that she received from Mycroft and placed it on the table in front of her. "Have they actually let you read your own file?"

He ignored the question completely, " So you would rather listen to me than read one of those files filled out by my doctors and past therapists?"

Molly's brow furrowed, "Yes, Of course..."

"What if I was told you that I'm completely fine and my brother is the mad one and the the only reason I'm still here is to humour him?"

"Then I would say that he is a bloody good actor."

"Interesting." His gaze shifted to the file, then back to her. She saw the small smirk that appeared on his face as he looked her over.  _Well this is better than glaring._

"You asked the others that didn't you? The other psychotherapist's? Judging by the smirk on your face, I've given you a different answer."

"It seems that you are more intelligent than the others I've had to encounter."

"I wouldn't say more intelligent. I would say more... eager."

His eyes squinted for a second and his gaze sweeped over to where to Mycroft was sitting before returning to her again. "Do you want to know what I think Molly Hooper?"

"Yes."

"I don't think you do."

"Go ahead."

He took a deep breath, "I think you're a woman who thinks everything and everyone has a second option and a other chance at life with the help of others. You think that a good laugh or friends can help you through the worst of times and that everyone deserves to have a little happiness no matter who they are or what they've done. A psychotherapist seemed like a good option for you because you wanted to give people, like me, that 'second chance' but that seemed to backfire a couple of years ago, didn't it? Something went wrong and made you rethink your job choice. Your friends think you to be too fragile for this sort of occupation, and you started to think they were right, didn't you?" He leaned forward and grabbed one of her hands in his and brought it to eye level to inspect it, "Psychotherapy was what you originally wanted to study but you also studied something else. Judging by the site of your hands, remaints of germicidal and iodine were you haven't washed properly and still faintly smelling of nitrile, I would say that your other career path was pathology. The scars on your palms, most likely from a small instrument, are at least 5 years old so you've been juggling two careers for quite a while." He placed her hand back onto the table and glanced at Mycroft who was staring at him with wide eyes, before he carried on. "You're an only child, and was raised not by your parents, but an aunty or grandmother going by how you dress in old jumpers and baggy pants which previously belonged to said grandmother or aunty. Your parents were quite wealthy, but one of them made a wrong decision or something along those lines and they lost everything. As you were raised by a relative, they must of been unable to care for you. Your father most likely turned to alcohol or drugs and your mother found comfort in nothing, not even her baby daughter and you were taken by social services and placed in the care of your closest relative, an aunty or an grandmother. Your education was fairly standard but you seemed to shine in sciences and went on to go to university where you got top of your class, and all the times you rejected parties invitations where spent studying for a exam you could already pass with flying colours. I know this because I was like that myself." His hands returned to their position in front of his face, "You don't have many friends, but to the few you have you are loyal and would do anything for. You're in your early thirties, and worry that if you dont marry within 3 years you would never settle and have the children you always wanted. You met someone, but he broke it off recently and the indent on your ring finger is a reminder of the wrong choices you made as you felt that he would be your last chance to settle down..." He took another deep breath, and exhaled into the palms of his hands as they rested under his nose. "Am. I. Wrong?"

Molly released the breath she never knew she was holding and blinked to snap out of the trance. She gulped.  _He knew everything... How did he know everything?!_

"Well?"

She cleared her throat and she feared that her voice would waver from the shock of it all. "It was my father who made the wrong decision. Made the company loose lots of money so they fired him, and he turned to alcohol."

"So I was right on all accounts then."

"Tom didn't break off the engagement, I did. I caught him cheating and he had the audacity to blame it all on me." Molly looked down at the faint imprint of where once layer her engagement ring, and rubbed the spot between her finger and thumb before looking back up at him.

"There's always something." He showed no sympathy for her failed relationship and she was somehow grateful. He leaned back in his chair and frowned grumpily as if the tiny mistake he made was the end of the world.

She shook her head in disbelief, " What is a amazing man like you with a mind like yours doing in a place like this, Sherlock Holmes?"

His eyes shifted from where he was staring a hole into the wall to lock onto her gaze. "No ones ever said I was amazing."

"What do they call you then?"

"Freak, knobhead, deranged, pyscho. They all have a dull and repetitive vocabulary when it comes to name calling."

How could anyone say that this man was deranged? This amazing, wonderful gift he has was the most interesting thing she had ever seen, even if he was a bit harsh in how he voiced his opinion and knowledge. When he ( _was it deduced? )_ her, his voice captivated her and help her in a trance as he told her everything about her and instead of finding it offending and quite frankly annoying... She found it endearing.

"Well you're not. Not at all. Your intellect is... It's astounding." She couldn't still quite wrap her her head around how in the world he new all about her life, her upbringing, her  _friends_ simply by looking at her.

He stared at her blinking in disbelief.  _My, my Molly Hooper you are different._ He cleared his throat, "... Thank you."

Molly smiled at him.  _Now were getting somewhere._

* * *

_**Everything about Mycroft will be explained later on, I promise!** _

**_Again, I am sorry for the long wait and if there are any grammatical errors. School is more important right now._ **

**_Thank you all for reading!_ **

**_-BHHGEFSLOTRTHZIMMS98_ **


	5. Chapter 5

Hello!  
Here is Asylum chapter 5!  
Thank you to everyone who has followed, favourited and reviewed this story, it is greatly appreciated.  
And a special thank you to Billiejoe4ever, who without them I would of not been able to complete chapter 4.  
DISCLAIMER: Sadly do not own these characters. They belong to Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.  
If there are any grammatical errors, I apologize.

TW for abuse and some naughty words.

To chapter 5!

He had been sat on the leather love seat by the window in the main lounge when Siger Holmes stumbled into view. The pungent smell of beer, vodka and spirits hung in the air and quickly filled the whole room; Sherlock dismissed him and carried on reading 'The wonderful world of Apiculture- Entomology'. Being only seven years old, Sherlock was very bright for his age. Even he knew that he was above average intelligence. He even thought he was smarter than Mycroft (though deep down he knew he wasn't) but his stubbornness lead him think otherwise.

He buried his nose further into the pages of his book but kept peeking over the top to watch his father stumble to the mahogany and glass cabinet which held fine wines and spirits reserved for special occasions like Christmas and birthdays. He reached his feet down so his toes where buried into Redbeards long fur as he rested beneath him on the floor and heard the dog sigh in its sleep. It calmed him. God knows what his father (or mother for that matter) would say if they knew he was still awake at this late hour. He may be smarter than the average seven year old but as his mother complained, he needed his 8 hours.

Sherlock was used to his fathers behavior. The late hours of the night when he stumbled through the door reeking of alcohol of all kinds and sweat. The harsh tone in which he spoke to them if they provoked him. It was all familiar to the whole of the family now and no one ever questioned him. Not even his Mother or Mycroft had thought to ask him what he spent all his time doing. Mostly, he was absorbed in his work, either at his company on the other side of London or his office on the third floor of their house. Sherlock had questioned his mother last Christmas why he wasn't there to open presents with them and all she replied with was 'Work is more important right now. He'll be home later. Hurry up eat your bacon!' Mycroft had said the same, but less enthusiastic and Sherlock learned not to question it anymore. The other portion of his time was spent at over-expensive pubs, playing poker and other stupid card games that burnt a hole in peoples pockets. He had also questioned why he always stank of paint stripper (which he presumably thought was some type of strong alcoholic drink like Vodka) and his mother gave him the same reply as always: 'He needs to let off steam. Money doesn't grow on trees, you know.' It all seemed very reasonable at the time.

He continued to observe as his father clumsily sorted through the varying types of alcohol to satisfy his craving. The sounds of clashing bottles and grunts of annoyance filled the room. Sherlock heard his mothers soft footsteps through the ceiling as she navigated her way to the landing. His fathers antics must have woken her and Sherlock knew that he had to slip away back to his room if he wanted to avoid being shouted at again.

He placed his tattered bookmark on the page and quietly closed his book, not making a sound. He slowly slid off of the seat, making sure his father was still occupied and was careful not to make his clothes rub against the leather. He roused Redbeard and put a finger to his lips. The dog happily wagged his tail as if he was understanding Sherlock's request and rubbed his head into his palm. He smiled at his companion and let his fur slide through his fingertips but stilled when he realized the sounds of clashing bottles had stopped and the room had become silent.

Sherlock turned and saw trouser covered shins directly in front of his face and looked further up to see his father staring down at him, now holding a bottle of wine.

"Why are you still up, boy?" His fathers voice was deep and gruff from the years of alcohol drinking and cigar smoking. He was tall, at least 6ft and had a sturdy build. Sherlock held his breath as he stared up at his father and continued to caress Redbeard's fur to calm down his fluttering stomach. He had never been afraid of his father, but that didn't mean he had to enjoy being deafened by his fathers drunken shouts and slurs that echoed through the whole of the house.

Still gripping Redbeard's fur in his hand, he answered. "I was reading my book. Must of lost track of time." He felt Redbeard lick away at his palm and he felt a little calmer.

Siger looked down at the book in Sherlock's hand before snatching it away and bringing the book up to his face before Sherlock could protest. Sherlock sighed. At this rate, as he heard his mothers footsteps draw closer, he knew he wasn't going to get out of this one without being scolded by them both. He heard movement in the room to the left and wondered how it could get any worse. Mycroft was awake, too.

"What crap are you reading now?" His fathers eyes squinted as he tried to read the title in his drunken state. "The wonderful world of Api-Api-Api what?" "Apiculture..." "Entomology... Sounds shite." He threw the book across the room and Sherlock watched as the the loose pages fell out as it hit the wall. "Move."

Sherlock moved around his father and pulled Redbeard along with him as he went to retrieve his fallen book, carefully placing the pages back into there rightful places. He watched as his father slumped down into the love seat and took a hearty gulp from the wine he was holding. "Come on Redbeard." He whispered to the dog and was about to make his way out the room when he walked into his mother. He sighed again when he saw Mycroft walking up behind her with a raised eyebrow.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes why are you not in bed?!" Violet Holmes's normally calm eyes filled with anger towards the little boy and he knew she was going to confiscate one of his beloved books or even one his fossilized bees he had asked for for his birthday 2 years ago.

"I was reading my book and lost track of time. I'm sorry, Mummy." He gave his mother his most innocent look and heard Mycroft scoff.

"Fine. Get up to bed, we'll talk about it tomorrow." He saw his mother trying to sound annoyed and angry but saw through it instantly. She was a terrible actor.

He was about to intervene through Violet and Mycroft when he noticed one of his book pages lying near his fathers feet. He turned back around and walked back to the chair, Redbeard on his trail. Siger didn't seem to notice and instead spoke up after his seconds of silence. "Violet make me something to eat, will you?"

"Siger it's late..."

Siger stood up, nearly knocking Sherlock off of his feet and put his ale down. He was about to walk over to Violet until Mycroft intervened. "I'll make you something, father. Sit down." Sherlock stared at Mycroft with curiosity. He didn't really understand what was going on and to be honest, he wished he went to bed earlier. All of this was making his head hurt. He stood up and walked towards them but paused when a unrecognizable scent hit his nose.

He smelt perfume.

Sweet, pungent and God forbid, down right singed his nostril hairs clean off. He took another deep whiff and cringed at the sickly sweet smell, looking to his mother. She didn't wear perfume, and if she ever did, it was a lot more subtle than whatever this one was. He looked up to see Mycroft looking at him, knowing he had figured something out and he shook his head slowly. Do not say a word.

Sherlock squinted his eyes at him. Why shouldn't he tell her? She, of all people, deserved to know if her husband was sleeping around. At the time, Sherlock didn't know of the dire consequences that he was about to get himself into, but if he could go back he wouldn't change his decision. Turning towards his father again he took another whiff and then turning to his mother, picking up her small wrist and pressing his nose to the inside of it. Completely different. He also knew that his father never wore aftershave.

"You don't smell like mummy does. You've hugged another woman." He said bluntly, not knowing how else to explain it at the time. He heard Mycroft sigh and his mothers wrist tense up in his hand. One glance at her told him she was about to cry and he frowned. Crying over a hug? Wasn't that a bit silly?

"Don't listen to him, Violet. He's obviously tired and young. You know how they make up stories.." Siger couldn't lie through the skin of his teeth, even when sober and Violet looked towards Mycroft, looking for the truth. She could trust him. He gave a single nod and she burst into tears.

Mycroft had dragged Sherlock away by his jumper, following him up the stairs as the shouts progressively got louder. He just sat him down on the bed, taking his book from him and putting it onto the shelf, positioning some of them properly while he was there. He turned, grimacing as Sherlock let the dog onto the end by his feet and tucked him in. "Never mention anything like that again, alright? It's nothing to do with us."

"Sorry, Mycroft.. " He dared to even try his most innocent face on him but frowned as Mycroft shook his head. "Don't even try that with me." Mycroft left shortly after, turning off the light and switching on his nightlight, making planets project onto the ceiling.

It wasn't long, maybe 20 minutes later, until Sherlock heard footsteps thundering up the stairs and his door being swung open, revealing his father and his mother behind him. Before Sherlock could even get out a word out, he was plucked from his bed and Siger lifted him, shaking him violently. Sherlock could smell the alcohol on his breath.

"You couldn't keep your mouth shut, could you? Stupid boy! You've ruined this family!" He threw him to the ground, advancing towards him before Violet stood in front, hand on his chest. "Siger, leave him. He didn't know what he was doing-" With a quick shove, her defense was gone and Siger gripped Sherlock's wrist tightly, causing him to cry out as he was dragged from the room. Sherlock wide eyes met Mycrofts concerning gaze and he even went as far to shout for him for help but he watched as he stood frozen beside his mother. At that moment, Sherlock lost all faith in his brother.

"You just have to blurt everything. Look at her," He yanked Sherlock's head towards her, tears streaming down his cheeks, "You've made her cry!" Violet was shaking, torn between wanting to help her youngest son or being on Sigers good side. If he left, she would have nothing. She made her decision.

Sherlock couldn't even start to think about apologizing as Siger shook his shoulders again, shouting something at him but he zoned out, too scared to stop him as he felt his feet slip on the top step and Sigers grip on his arms vanish, leaving him to topple down the second story staircase.

Watching as if it was happening in slow motion, Mycroft watched as his little brother fell and he couldn't just stand there anymore. He rushed past, pushing Siger aside and jumping down the steps. Thankfully it was only a 10 step staircase. "Sherlock?" He kneeled beside him, turning him over carefully. He was still conscious but had a cut on his head from where he must have hit the edge of the steps. Sherlock, against his own will, curled into him as he cried and Mycroft wrapped both arms around his shaking form, lifting him easily and calling Redbeard from upstairs, hearing his nails against the tiles and eventually his nose against his pant leg. He didn't hear either of their parents coming down to see if he was ok.

Mycroft ended up trying to clean and bandage his head, being as gentle as Sherlock wasn't thought possible and then carrying him quietly up to his room and tucking him in once again. Mycroft was going to leave, but as he saw his little brother staring at the door with wide eyes and trembling like a leaf, he climbed in next to him, legs hanging off the side. "Go to sleep.." He ran his hands through his hair, calming him until a few minutes later he fell asleep, Redbeard resting his head on his stomach.

In that moment Mycroft had never felt so guilty.

 

"Sherlock? Sherlock?"

Molly called out to him, watching him cautiously as he trailed off and stared a hole into the wall. He looked distant and his eyes were unblinking. She had asked him (with his permission of course) to explain the first time he was afraid of his father. It was a basic question among the many others that she had to ask. She had decided to ask him while he was getting his check up. After finding out his last check up was over two months ago, she demanded one immediately on her next visit. It had been two weeks since he had deduced her and in that time she made sure that he ate every meal he was given and took every pill he needed. Of course, there had been some resistance and she had had some trouble trying to come up with a deal-type situation where he could gain something from it, except for becoming healthier.

As the doctor (she never caught his name) wrapped the band from the blood pressure machine around his arm he blinked, coming back to reality and flitting his gaze over to hers.

"What?" He flinched slightly as the band started to tighten.

"You alright?" She heard the door open and Sherlock sigh. Mycroft was here then.

"I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be fine?" He stood once his blood pressure was taken, going to the scales and Molly followed, seeing if her persistence had paid off.

"112 pounds. You've put on one stone, Sherlock." The doctor nodded, recording the result before giving them the permission to leave. Molly smiled up at Sherlock as he put his trainers back on and he scoffed, shaking his head.

"Don't look so smug."

"I didn't say anything." She smirked, taking a copy of the notes from the doctor before following Mycroft as he lead them both to the cafateria to get Sherlock his lunch. She could practically see him squirming to get away. She gave him one look and he sat down in the seat, defeated and letting Mycroft put the plate in front of him. He pushed the food around his plate for a few minutes and glared as Molly and Mycroft sat down. Molly was not giving up easily.

"Alright, Sherlock. I have a proposition for you." Molly crossed her arms, leaning forward on the table. Sherlock stopped messing with a bit of carrot and narrowed his eyes at her.

"A proposition? What kind of proposition?" He even leant forward, leaving his food for a moment and Mycroft intervened before she could speak. "Do you not think it would be wise to consult me in this proposition before hand?" On look from both Sherlock and Molly caused him to settle back into his chair and pull out his phone, mumbling something about trade secrets.

"Go on."

"Well there are two things I'd like to offer to you in exchange. If you eat all of these meals and take your tablets when you need to I'll let you use the lab at St Bartholomews hospital when I'm working the graveyard shifts. That's at least 2 nights a week.." She had learn't from Mycroft that Sherlock had a passion for sciences. Hopefully with this she could get him to become healthier and also get him out of for a bit. She could imagine that being cooped up like some sort of animal wasn't helping him at all.

He seemed to perk up a little, fingers tapping the the table lightly and he looked skeptical for a few moments before he turned his gaze towards hers again. "The other?"

"My friends John and Mary are holding a Christmas party in three weeks. They invited you and Mycroft agreed with me that it'd be good for you to socialize with people other than me and him." She smiled at him and watched as he sat back in his seat. "It'll be fun. Mrs Hudson wants to meet you, too." She thought back to the sweet old woman and how she had asked what biscuits Sherlock liked.

"Socializing is pointless. What is the point of making friends if I'm to come back here straight afterwards? I don't do 'friends'. " Sherlock brought his plate back in front of him and picking up his fork before piercing a carrot and popping it into his mouth. "I'll take the first offer."

"I'm afraid it's a all or nothing sort of deal. Can't have one without the other." She heard him sigh and saw his shoulders drop in defeat. She glanced over to Mycroft and saw him giving her a approving gaze. She guessed that he was glad she hadn't given up so easily. "We'll even go out a few days before to get you some clothes. Mycroft's giving me his credit card."

"I am?" Mycroft raised a brow at her, not looking very amused.

"You are." Molly concluded.

Sherlock scoffed, swallowing the food and looking towards him. "Well, haven't you two gotten cozy? He never let me use his credit cards, worried I was going to buy illegal substances, weren't you?" He gave him a completely fake but face splitting smile, making Molly feel slightly on edge. True, she had gotten to know Sherlock better during the two weeks and knew the majority of what she needed to know to help him but he still did things that unnerved her.

"Fine. I'll go. But if I tell you I want to leave, you will let me leave. Yes?" He started to eat the vegetables and what resembled a piece of steak. She guessed it was a ready made meal but he seemed to be enjoying it now that he was eating it and not pushing it around his plate. Molly thought it was because now he had a bit of incentive.

"Absolutely."

 

It was only a few days later when Molly decided that it was a good day for him to go get some nice clothes. John and Mary had moved their party so it was only twelve days away when they discovered the baby's due date was in that third week. It was amazing when she thought about it, everything was happening so fast. It only seemed like yesterday that they had gotten married and Molly had received Sherlock's file through the letter-box.

Speaking of Sherlock, she was proud of the progress he had made in only two weeks. He had accepted every meal, drink and pill he was given and had eaten them with vigor, something she hadn't really expected so soon but she guessed it was the deal she had offered him. It only came to her the night before when she was doing the graveyard shift, ironically, and she had looked over to the benches. It was full of unused equipment; microscopes, slides, an incubator etc. Her thoughts had gone to Sherlock, knowing that he would appreciate them and the freedom they provided. He would get out for a few hours two times a week and also satisfy his experimenting tendencies. Molly was sure that he was getting tired off the grey walls.

Molly quickly signed into the log book, waving to Sam on the way past and easily guided her way through the institute, ignoring the advances from some of the patients. She had come accustomed to their behaviour; Most of her time was sent in the cafeteria or the newly discovered lounge, which Sherlock detested because one patient in particular, a woman called Maureen, always had the same program on the TV. Molly could quote the whole thing from memory if she desired to.

Walking into the ECU unit, she was thankful to see Jim wasn't in his cell. She had only seen him once or twice around the building, always with a guard and a doctor she hadn't caught the name of. Sherlock had told her that he was always taken out of his cell when the thought the rest were sleeping. Molly asked no more questions about it.

"Sherlock?" She peered around through the glass, seeing him sprawled on the small bed with his limb handing off the sides as he snored softly. Since he had been eating proper meals near enough every day, three times a day and had taken every pill, his need for sleep had become a lot more frequent. He looked healthier too. He was still a bit too thin for his height but he was starting to fill out the jumpsuit and his long limbs started to look a lot more proportional. He had a lot more energy too. Even he couldn't deny that he enjoyed that. Some of the doctors thought she was mad for being so determined, telling her that there really was no point because this institution really was the place for lost cases. Molly had told them to shove their opinions where the sun didn't shine, because she couldn't care less about what they thought.

She opened the door quietly, putting her bag down and walking over to him. "Sherlock? Hey, it's time to wake up. It's 11 am.." She put her hand on his shoulder, shaking him as gently as she could. His brow furrowed, his head turning slightly onto his opposite shoulder and he made a sound of protest. "Go away," he rolled onto his side, back to her and she sighed.

"Sherlock you are progressively getting lazier.." She sighed, smiling as she shook him again.

"Your fault. You made me eat." He mumbled and batted her hand away, slumping onto his back before sitting up, scowling at her.

"Don't complain. You know you enjoy how much energy you have now, no thanks to me... Anyway, today is shopping day, if you feel up to it. We could even go and get some nice food." She walked towards her bag again, pulling out some clothes she had bought him yesterday and handing them to him. She knew he wouldn't like them but he couldn't walk around in his jumpsuit, could he?

"What on earth is this? This jacket is an abomination and don't even get me started on the jeans. I thought you had some sense of fashion, Molly." He threw them next to him on the bed, folding his arms over his chest, refusing to even give them a second glance.

"Sherlock, that's the best I could find. Besides, if you do get dressed we can go and buy you something else that you would rather wear, can't we? And me, fashionable? Didn't you say last week that you hated my jumpers?"

"You're too smart for your own good." He mumbled snatching the clothes up into a bundle, getting the trainers and moving past her and into the bathroom, muttering all the way there.

"Thank you." She smirked, collecting her things and waiting for him by the door, pushing the thought that she was being watched into the back of her mind.

 

"No. No. Defiantly not. This is ridiculous!" Sherlock snatched the jumper from her hand, forcing it back onto the rack and nearly tore the whole thing off the wall.

"Sherlock! We have been here for 2 hours and you have shot down every single item of clothing! What do you want? Please, tell me before I lose my sanity!" Molly threw her hands up in the air, the empty basket sagging and early hitting her in the face.

"This shop is horrifying. Does no one have good taste?"He stalked off, Molly quickly following behind him, scolding herself internally as her eyes flickered down to how his newly acquired bottom in those jeans.

Since the stone he had put on, plus the few extra pounds over the last few days, he had started to look more and more like he did in his old admission photographs. Admittedly he was older, but she couldn't help think that age suited him. Being the ditz she was, she had bought some jeans that miraculously fit, a soft long sleeve shirt and a hooded jacket as well as some black trainers. He looked different. It was amazing what a change of clothes could do and she didn't fail to notice the few lingering gazes of some women around the shop. Molly had proceeded to glare at them until they shuffled away.

Molly was about to pick up a a pair of boots when he held a hand up. "Put them down- What is that shop over there?" He paused, pointing to an old coat shop over the road.

Molly raised a brow. The shop itself wasn't very appealing on the outside. It had chipped paint and no one was seen coming in or out of it. The only way they could tell it was open was the small sign in the door and the lights inside.

"That's just a coat shop, Sherlock. Never been there myself- Hey! Slow down!" She hurried off after him as he bolted form the shop, apologizing to the woman in the door who he nearly knocked over in his haste. He ran across the road, dodging the oncoming cars and Molly let out a squeak, waiting until it was clear until she crossed.

"I swear to God Sherlock Holmes, if you die I will resuscitate you and kill you again! Never do that to me, you scared me half to death.." She put a hand over her heart, catching her breath and glaring at him. His only response was a boyish smirk, one she had never seen before as he walked into the shop, leaving Molly to calm down.

As she walked in, she found him fingering through the long racks of warm looking coats, shaking his head before turning to the rack behind him. She took a seat on one of the stools, giving her feet a rest and watching him. It was odd, seeing him in this setting but it was a welcome change. She hoped to get him out more in the future. He looked so much more happier in the outside world, even if he didn't show it. She could see it in how his eyes lit up as he spotted new things and pointed out people to her who he found particularly interesting or different.

"This one. I want this one." He pulled her out of her thoughts and she blinked, focusing back on him and the large blue-black coat he held up. It was a lovely coat, long and woolen with golden buttons and a large collar. It even had a singular red threaded button hole. He took it off the hanger, pulling it on and adjusting it slightly before turning to her.

"Twirl?" She smiled, rotating her finger. He scowled but reluctantly did as she said, turning slowly and the fabric moved to accommodate his movement before he looked at her again.

Molly's breath had caught in the back of her throat. The coat itself was wonderful, but on Sherlock it looked so much more appealing. His cheekbones fitted right in with the large collar and it just looked... Right. She brought out Mycrofts card, handing it to him as he put it back on it's hanger. "Go wild." He hurried off, waking the old man from his slumber at the desk and Molly thought she had never seen him so happy.

Over the next few hours, he had bought two dress shirts, a purple and white one which alone were more expensive than Molly's whole outfit put together. The next was a tailored black suit, which had a few extra inches around the waist and chest so it wold fit better when he had put more weight on. Last he had bought some new underwear, much to his distaste, a few pairs of black socks, a pair of black dress shoes and a blue woolen scarf.

As they walked around the streets in case he felt he needed to buy more, both carrying a cup of decaffeinated coffee she held up the receipts, eyes widening at the prices.

"Mycroft has a very dented bank account.." She chuckled, stuffing them back in one of the bags.

"He has a lot more money than what's in that single bank account... He earns more in a month than what your earn in six. I wouldn't feel too guilty- What is going on over there?" He took off again and Molly groaned, chucking her coffee in the nearest bin.

"You have got to stop doing that!" She ran after him, pausing as he hopped over a a line of police tape. She hesitated before ducking under it, shouting him again.

"Molly?" She turned, flushing red as she spotted Lestrade waving at her slowly, walking over with his brows raised. "What are you doing here? And who on earth is that and why is he prodding the dead body?" Before Molly could explain, a thin man came over to Sherlock, pushing his shoulder. "I don't want this crime scene contaminated!"

Lestrade sighed, walking over with Molly close behind. "Well obviously you need someone else opinion on the evidence because I have worked it out in the 3 minutes I've been here. How long have you been milling around like a headless chicken?" Sherlock flailed his hands around as he spoke quickly before Lestrade interrupted them.

"Oi. Anderson,go back to forensics. You..." He glanced over to Molly who was staring at Sherlock as he nearly growled as Anderson walked away. "You said you worked it out. What do you think has happened?"

Oh God, Molly thought. But she stayed quiet, giving Sherlock an encouraging nod before he was began.

"Judging by her the bullet wound in her head is on the left side of her head and she is right handed, it wasn't a suicide, even if you did find the gun that was shot in her left hand. How do you know she is right handed? She has ink smudges on the side of her right hand as well as the small telltale bump on her right forefinger from holding a pen. So, conclusion she didn't shoot herself," He walked around for a moment, looking around and spotting another body, covered with a white sheet, "that body over there is a man, I presume?" With Lestrade dumbfounded nod, he continued. "Left or right handed?" "Right." "Of course. as there is a red blood stain on the white sheet from the right side of his head, and I presume that his fingerprints are on the gun that killed her and the gun was found near his body. And as she has an engagement ring and wedding ring on, I come to the conclusion that this is a murder-suicide. Probably something idiotic like adultery and over-protective husband.." He trailed off, staring at the silver haired man.

Lestrade closed his mouth, glancing at Molly again who shrugged and smiled. "He does that. Sherlock Holmes, Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade."

Lestrade's eye's lite up with recognition to the name, raising his brows and nodding. "Right. Well, you've just saved me a whole lot of time, Sherlock. Thank you." He shook his hand, much to Sherlock's distaste. "Have you ever thought of joining the police? Scotland Yard would kill to have someone like you around.." Molly looked at Sherlock, grinning. A proposition like that could motivate him to get better faster and what better than to come out of St Bart's with a job already lined up for him.

"No. I don't want to work for the police. I feel I have a much larger intellect than all of you put together and you all would only slow me down. Good day." With that, he walked off, ducking under the tape.

Molly simply shrugged again, telling Lestrade she would see him later when he stopped her. "He's brilliant Molly, really. Tell him to think about it.." He smiled, patting her arm before walking in the opposite direction, calling for everyone to pack up.

As Molly followed after Sherlock again, catching up with his long strides she couldn't hide the small smile on her face. "That really was amazing, you know."

"Will you say that every time?" He asked into his coffee, frowning as it wasn't strong enough for his liking.

"Do you want me to stop?"

His gaze flitted to her for a moment, hiding his smirk behind his coffee cup. "No."

 

"So Doc', what's the verdict?" Jim Moriarty smirked wolfishly at the ginger man in front of him, swinging his legs from the table he was sat on.

"Don't call me that..." Sebastian Moran scowled, ripping off the lab coat and throwing a small canister at him. Jim caught it swiftly, inspecting the casing and tapping his fingers against the metal excitedly.

"That's the best I can get them to make with the resources they had. Does exactly what you want it to do. They tested it on a few of the more... Hopeless patients. The first few died, the next two had long lasting side effects and now it just effects the for half an hour before they fall unconscious. Wake up as good as new." He stated proudly, willingly coming closer to his boss as he beckoned him with his finger.

"My smart sniper, what ever would I do without you?" He grabbed his shirt collar, bringing him close until their lips where inches apart. "Now. Get back to work." He whispered against his lips before pushing him back, leaning back as he watched him work.

"Arsehole." Sebastian muttered, throwing him a mask as he started to fill more canisters.

 

I'm sorry it's a bit shorter than the rest, I just wanted to get it finished.

I've looked over my older chapters and there's so many errors with spelling and with the ages and I can't go back and edit them because they've all been deleted because my old laptop just died. So, sorry about them.

Thank you for reading and sorry for my absence!

-BHHGEFSLOTRTHZIMMS98

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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